


Half A Man

by iStiz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Amputation, Auror Harry Potter, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Post-War, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-04 22:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iStiz/pseuds/iStiz
Summary: Harry wakes up from a horrific on-the-job injury with no recollection of what happened. While anxious to begin his recovery, he finds it's a long road to feeling like yourself again. And it's even more difficult when he can't remember what that is.





	1. Is it Still a Nightmare if You're Awake?

**Author's Note:**

> It's been so long (I want to say over a year?) since I've been able to sit down and really write. I don't know if my muse has been hibernating or vacationing or what, but I finally feel the passion again. I just love Harry/Charlie and I hope you enjoy where these characters have taken me.
> 
> This is definitely a WORK IN PROGRESS. Even though I've written quite a bit of this already, I do not promise a timeline for posting new chapters. Just stick with me :)

“So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?” whispered Harry. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:

“Avada Kedavra!” “Expelliarmus!” 

* * *

Harry hisses in pain, finding it odd that the Killing Curse hurt this time. Perhaps it’s because he already died once. There’s certainly that same blinding white that he saw before he ended up at King’s Cross Station with Dumbledore, but the pain…it just doesn’t make sense.

The ghostly voice of Sirius floats through his mind saying, “Quicker than falling asleep.”

“Then why does it fucking hurt?” Harry groans out against the memory.

“That’s to be expected, Potter.”

His distress is momentarily forgotten and replaced with confusion. Harry would know that posh, drawling voice anywhere. “Malfoy?”

“Who else would it be? Granger refused to let anyone else come near you.”

Harry moans as another wave of pain overtakes him. “Am I…” he starts to ask. Dead? That seems unlikely, given his current discomfort and presence of Draco Malfoy. Seeing his old headmaster in the afterlife was one thing, but this is another altogether.

“You’re alive, if that’s what you’re wondering. Here, this will help with the pain. Open up.”

He nods his head in response, parting his lips and allowing whatever form of Draco this is to pour something down this throat. He swallows and almost sighs in relief as the potion starts to overpower the pain. Harry is just starting to accept the fact that he somehow survived the Killing Curse- again- when he thinks about the caster of said curse. “And what about Tom?” he asks Draco. “Did he survive as well?”

“Was Tom your partner?”

“What? No. Tom Riddle.”

Draco makes a choking sound that echoes loud around them. “Uhm…” he clears his throat before regaining his composure. “No, but Potter… what year do you think it is?”

That’s an odd question. “1998. Why?”

“Potter. Open your eyes.”

Oh. It hadn’t occurred to Harry that his eyes were still closed. After all, he figured he was dead up until a few moments ago. Slowly he forces his eyelids open. He blinks against the sudden onslaught of light, rubbing his eyes at the effort. “Where are my glasses?”

“You haven’t worn them in years- not voluntarily, at least- but we had to take out your contact lenses when you were brought in so Granger brought this old pair by.” Draco hands him the glasses, aiding in slipping the temples atop Harry’s ears.

Harry is just about to ask when Hermione and Draco became friends when the room comes into clarity. And that includes the person in it. He gasps. “Malfoy! You…you…” he can’t find the words to accurately describe the changes he sees so he goes with, “your _hair_.”

Draco, oddly enough, chuckles at his outburst. “You had pretty much that same reaction the first time you saw it.”

“The first time…? I don’t understand.”

“Potter,” he sighs before summoning the bedside chair and leaning casually on its armrest, ankles crossed. “Harry,” he tries again, earning another shocked look from the man in question, “It’s 2004. You killed Riddle six years ago and you’ve been an auror for the Ministry pretty much ever since.”

Harry can feel himself gaping but he just can’t seem to wrap his mind around what he’s hearing, let alone form the words necessary to respond.

Blessedly, Draco doesn’t wait for him to do so. “You your partner were brought in a few weeks ago. I don’t know the details of what happened, only that you were both injured. Your partner claims you sacrificed yourself to save his life, something I’m willing to believe given your savior nature.”

“M-my partner? Is it Ron?”

“If your partner was Weasley, don’t you think I would have just said that?” he quips.

Harry almost smiles. That’s the Draco he knows and bickered with for years. “Fair enough. So what’s the story with the hair?”

Draco runs his fingers through the short, brown locks with a huff. “It’s brilliant what a simple change in appearance will make people forget. True, some still ask for a new healer when they hear my name but at least they don’t run away at the mere sight of me.”

The change is truly quite startling, so different from the platinum blonde Harry was expecting. And then there’s the fact that Draco is now a healer. Harry takes in the standard lime-green robes worn by the healers at St. Mungo’s. He may not be able to place the present time but at least he knows _where_ he is.

“Now back to you. The healers were forced to put you into a magically-induced coma,” Draco says without making eye contact.

“Was I hurt that badly?”

His gaze remains firmly on the floor.

“Malfoy. You have to tell me.”

“Can’t you feel it?” he asks cryptically.

Harry slowly starts to take in his physical state. He’s lying down, propped up slightly by few pillows behind his shoulders and neck. His head feels heavy but otherwise not outside of the ordinary. His arms and hands seem to moving okay. He peeks inside his shirt and sees the dark magic scar still prominently in the center of his chest. He starts to pat down his torso and hips when he notices that end of the bed looks strange.

“What happened??” he screams as he flips back the covers.

There’s a loud sniff and Harry doesn’t dare glance over at Draco for fear of what he’ll see on his former rival’s face. And he isn’t sure he could rip his eyes away from his own horror even if he tried. There, where his right leg used to be, from the thigh down, is nothing.

“What. Happened.” It is no longer a question. Harry demands it this time.

“They tried everything,” Draco says shakily, the waver evident in his voice. “There was so much dark magic, you shouldn’t have survived it at all.”

“But…what about Skele-grow? Pomfrey grew the bones back in my arm in our second year! Why didn’t they just do that?”

“They couldn’t.”

“Why not??” This can’t be happening, it just can’t. First he wakes up with six years suddenly missing from his life and now he’s also missing a leg. It’s all too much.

“It just wasn’t possible to-”

“It’s MAGIC! Since when is any of what we do supposed to be POSSIBLE??”

“Harry, you have to calm down s-”

“NO! I’m missing my fucking leg! I won’t calm down! Give me my wand! I can fix this!”

Draco tries to administer a calming draught but Harry pushes him away. Thankfully, they have some formulated to be used as an injection and Harry can’t fight what he doesn’t see coming. The change in his demeanor is almost immediate and Draco drops into the bedside chair in exhaustion. He watches as the potion takes effect. “Feeling better?” he asks.

“No.” Harry growls, though it sounds more like a gurgle due to his relaxed state.

“That’s fine. You’ve endured a massive amount of trauma. Physiohealers will help you learn to move again, and there are mind healers that will work you through coming to terms with what’s happened.”

“I don’t want to see any healers. I want to get my wand and go home.”

“I can’t give you your wand. It’s been confiscated.”

“Why?”

“Some of the healers think your wand might have been part of the problem.”

“What does my wand have to do with anything?”

“You’ve been using the wrong one.”

Harry may not remember recent events but he definitely remembers his own wand snapping in half during his fight against Nagini in Godric’s Hollow. What has he been using since? Perhaps Draco’s still? “Certainly I’ve given you your wand back, considering we’re somehow friends.”

“Friends might be a strong word.” Harry pulls a look so unimpressed that Draco apologizes. “Sorry. What I mean to say was, you valiantly returned my wand back in ’98. Then you went and bought yourself a new one even though Mister Ollivander told you it wouldn’t work. But _no_, you thought you could handle the magic. You thought you knew better. And the healers think that when you tried to block the Killing Curse from hitting your partner, it was just too much. The magic converged with your own and it hit your leg. That’s why they couldn’t save it.”

Harry is too relaxed to stop the tears from flowing down his face. This isn’t how things were supposed to happen. He was supposed to kill Voldemort, save the world, and then be free. Why did he even go on to be an auror? Wasn’t it Barty Crouch Jr. pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody that first planted the idea in his head? Now he’ll never be able to live the life he wants.

Draco slips his hand into Harry’s and gives a gentle squeeze. “Whatever you’re thinking in that head of yours, stop it. This isn’t the end. You’re alive. And if anyone can overcome adversity it’s the Golden Boy.” Watery green eyes meet his with disbelief, but Draco simply shrugs. “I wouldn’t bet against you, that’s for sure.”

One might think that losing a major limb and several years of your life would be the biggest shock you could awake to, but being comforted by Draco Malfoy definitely takes the cake. Harry holds onto his hand like it’s a lifeline. And maybe it is.

* * *

Now that he’s awake, Harry’s hospital room is filled with a seemingly nonstop rotation of healers and aurors. The former all come in to poke and prod at him and force him to choke down vial after vial of potions (the threat of injecting them against his will is always there, so Harry complies if only so the choice is his- even if in reality there is no choice at all). The latter come in to thank him for his bravery. Harry’s not sure which one is worse.

One bright moment is ‘meeting’ his auror partner, a wizard in his thirties called William Bellows. Apparently he joined the aurors after the rebuild of the Ministry following the war. He lost his parents and husband to a Death Eater attack and decided this would be his way to honor their memory. Harry likes him, and wishes he could remember their years working together.

Another bright moment comes when Hermione and Ron rush in to see him. They make it awkward by being afraid to touch him, though Harry understands their hesitation and he doesn’t blame them. It’s just an ugly look into the future. This is how everyone will treat him from now on, like he’s broken. And isn’t that the truth?

Hermione desperately tries to fill in all of the blanks in his memory, but it’s too much and it exhausts Harry. Ron promises to stay with him so Hermione gives them both a kiss on the cheek before turning to leave the room. _At least this is familiar_, Harry thinks to himself right before Draco Malfoy walks in and gets a kiss of his own- only his is on the lips instead of his cheek. He wraps an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and the two leave together.

They don’t see Harry gawking at their backs but Ron sure does. He snorts and says, “Weird, right? You’ll get used to it after a while.”

“Bu-but…” Harry stammers. Once in school Luna spoke of the possibility of there being an infinite number of universes, some similar to their own and some very different. Harry considers, however briefly, that she may have been right and that the dark curse he fell victim to sent him to one of those other universes. He shakes his head to dislodge the very notion. There has to be a reasonable explanation. “How? What happened?” he begs to know.

Ron tilts his head and shrugs. “Malfoy’s not so bad anymore. In fact, you were the one that made me realize he’s actually sort of funny. The bloke loves Quidditch almost as much as I do and he’s good to ‘Mione.” Another shrug. “And after all was said and done… I just… wasn’t the person that she deserved.”

This is all somehow harder to come to terms with than anything else. Ron and Hermione were meant for each other! Sure, they fought, but they challenged each other and balanced each other out. They made each other better. He needs them together to anchor him to this new reality.

Harry’s face must be quite crestfallen because Ron leans forward and assures him that they’re all still friends. “We’ve been through too much- and we still love each other, even if not in that way. We agreed to never give up our friendship, especially not for the likes of Malfoy. In fact, the five of us spend a lot of time together.”

“Five?”

“Sure. ‘Mione, Malfoy, you, me, and Nina.”

“Nina?”

“Oh,” Ron’s mouth tilts down slightly before breaking into a tiny grin. “Right. If you don’t remember anything after the final battle, then you wouldn’t know about Nina. She’s the oldest of Dean’s younger sisters. Would have been two years behind us in school, had she been a witch.”

Harry doesn’t care that Ron’s dating a muggle but it still comes as a surprise. He’s glad to see a smile on the redhead. “And she knows about magic, obviously, from Dean?”

“Yeah, though I don’t use it too much anymore, just little bits around the flat and every once in a while at work when it could save someone.”

“What do you do? Malfoy said you aren’t an auror…” he tries to keep the betrayal out of his voice.

“Fireman.” Ron says the word proudly, his chest puffing out a bit. “Sometimes I miss having a beard- or at least the option to grow one out like Bill- but it’s rewarding work. And like I said… I use a bit of magic when I need to. My captain knows because he caught me once and I had to have the Department of Muggle Affairs come out and talk to him but he agreed to me staying on because I’m able to keep more people safe.”

Harry’s smiling now too, Ron’s pride infectious. He can just imagine his best friend racing into burning buildings and hoisting people up onto his shoulders. That’s when he notices that Ron’s aforementioned shoulders are quite muscled, much more than they were in school. It reminds him of Charlie (though Ron is a great deal taller than his dragon-handling brother) but just as he’s about to ask Ron about him, Harry moans in pain. He doesn’t know how much time has passed as they chatted but it must have been enough for his potions to wear off.

Ron is up and out of the room in an instant, bringing back one of the many mediwitches he’s seen before. Harry is given another round of potions, each one more disgusting than the last. He hates how they make him feel drowsy but he loves the quick-acting nature of them. That’s one advantage to magic over medicine, he thinks as he yawns.

“Go ahead and sleep,” Ron says when they’re alone again. “I’ll firecall Mum and let her know you’re alright, or, well-” he blanches, glancing down to where Harry’s leg used to be, “You know what I mean. I’ll tell her to let you rest but then be prepared because she’ll be here and you know how she is.”

“I’ll welcome the familiarity,” Harry says warmly.

They both chuckle, Harry’s ending in yet another yawn. He tries to fight his eyelids as they grow heavier and heavier but it’s no use. He lets the potions drag him down into a deep sleep, finally allowing his mind to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That first part is copyrighted by JKR.
> 
> Also, how about those side pairings? Comment and we can chat!


	2. Sometimes Memories are Better Than the Present...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens with a flashback (in italics).

_The sun shines warm on a perfect July afternoon. It’s his birthday, and Harry is drifting in and out of sleep on a soft patch of grass with the gentle breeze tickling his face. Ron and Hermione are sitting under a tree across the garden. She reads aloud from a Charms textbook while Ron leans his head on her shoulder and pretends to listen._

_A shadow drifts over Harry and he thinks it’s just a cloud until the shadow says, “Mind if I join you?”_

_While he can tell all of the Weasleys apart by their voices alone (even Fred and George, whom he has problems telling apart with his eyes open), this voice in particular could never be mistaken for another. And it never fails to make his heart speed up a little._

_“S-sure!” Harry’s voice cracks. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He misses Sirius absolutely every day since he lost him through the veil, but one of the worst parts of losing his godfather is losing the only adult he felt comfortable enough talking to about this sort of thing. Arthur is an amazing father, sure, but even this might be a too much for the man._

_Charlie drops to the ground with a small thud. Then he flops back and uses an arm to shade his face from the sun. “So,” he nudges Harry with his free arm, “Enjoying your birthday?”_

_“Sure.” Great. Now he’s repeating himself. “I mean… yes. Your family is always so nice to me and I love it here.”_

_“I’m sort of partial to them, too,” Charlies says with a laugh._

_“Thanks for coming in. You didn’t have to.”_

_“The dragons could wait.”_

_He doesn’t bring up what happened to Harry and everyone else in June, but it hangs in the air nonetheless. All the members of the Order (and the Weasleys be extension) have made an effort to be around a lot this summer. Even if they didn’t make themselves known outright, Harry would often see them from the corner of his eye as he was roaming around the city. That’s why he never felt as ‘reckless’ as Dumbledore accused him of being._

_“Tell me about them,” Harry requests to keep things light. He rolls over onto his stomach and props himself up on forearms as he falls into Charlie’s tale about his Hungarian Horntail yearlings._

_At some point Hermione and Ron walk past, the latter saying something about dinner, but Harry waves them off. He’s so stuffed from lunch that he doesn’t even want to think about more food. They stay out until the sun starts to set._

_The Burrow is uncharacteristically quiet when they go inside. Harry heads directly up to the attic where Ron’s room is, but Charlie grabs his arm to stop him on the second landing. He says, “I have something for you,” then holds up one finger and goes into his bedroom._

_Charlie steps out a moment later holding a small, wrapped parcel. Harry gives him a crooked smile. “For me?”_

_“Obviously. Go on, Birthday Boy.”_

_Harry tears into the paper until he’s holding a golden ball. “A snitch?”_

_Charlie leans back against the wall and shrugs like it’s nothing. “Gred and Feorge told me about Quidditch getting banned last year and I figured you might need all the practice you can get before the start of the new season. Not everyone can be as good as me.”_

_His words sound mocking but there’s a cheeky smirk on his face that gives away his teasing. Harry kicks one of Charlie’s shoes with his own. “Oh, is that so?”_

_“That’s the snitch I caught to win us the Cup my final game of my final year as captain. Maybe some of my awesomeness will rub off on you.”_

_“Ha! Yeah, maybe.” Harry looks down to hide the blush on his cheeks. He lifts his gift and says, “Cheers,” then takes off towards the attic once more._

_He’s halfway up the next staircase when he hears Charlie open his bedroom door. Steeling all of the Gryffindor courage he doesn’t believe he actually has, Harry turns and sprints back down to the landing. Charlie turns around in surprise and his surprise only increases when Harry jumps up onto his toes and plants a kiss on his cheek. It’s over before Charlie can even respond._

_“That was to say thanks.” Harry blurts in explanation. He looks around wildly for a second and then bolts up the stairs for good this time, Charlie’s soft laughter echoing behind him._

* * *

“Rise and shine, Harry!”

Harry rolls away from the sun suddenly streaming into his hospital room, pulling the blankets up and over his head. Unfortunately, they do nothing to block out the annoying sound of his physiohealer’s voice. She’s perpetually upbeat- something Harry wouldn’t normally mind, but right now all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and forget that all of this is happening to him.

He hears a murmur of a spell and then his blankets are ripped off of him.

Healer Sherman (or ‘Leila’ as she asked to be called after Harry insisted she stop calling him ‘Auror Potter’) snickers at the indignant yelp she earns for her efforts. “You know the drill, Harry. You get up and move or you get blood clots and die.”

“So much for bedside manner,” Harry grumbles as he pushes himself up to sitting. “Also, can’t magic cure something like blood clots?”

“Spoken like a true muggle born.”

“Muggle _raised_,” he corrects.

“Of course, my mistake. Swing those legs around. Anyway, magic can do a lot but it can’t just make clots disappear. That sort of micro-magic is far too delicate within the human body. One wrong move and we’d tear a hole clean through you!”

“Comforting thought.”

Leila just shrugs and continues with his stretches. They go through all of the old ones before she adds in a few new ones. It hurts, but in a good way, and Harry’s never been one to shy away from a little pain anyhow. He is, however, looking forward to when he will be healed enough to do the hydrotherapy. In fact, any water would be nice right now. He’s been using cleaning charms on himself but they’re no replacement for a proper shower. He caught himself daydreaming about the luxurious tub in the Prefect bathroom yesterday. Maybe he can pay to install one like that in his… house? Flat? Where does he even live now? He’ll have to ask Ron the next time he visits.

When they’re all done Leila helps him lay back and get comfortable again, even going so far as to return his blankets. “Alrighty, Harry, things are looking good on my end. You have an appointment with Healer Briggs in a bit to discuss how you’re feeling.” He rolls his eyes at the mention of his mind healer, though he refrains from any rude comment. Leila, blessedly, ignores him. “After that, Healer MacAllen will be in to check on your surgical site and then we can talk about what comes next! Is there anything else you need from me right now? Any questions? Concerns?”

It’s all straightforward enough so he just asks, “How long has Molly been waiting today?”

Leila hides a laugh behind her hand. Molly showed up well before visiting hours the day after Harry gained consciousness, insistent upon seeing him. Mercifully, the hospital minister intercepted her before she could cause too much damage to the healing team in the surgical recovery ward. She’s been the first one in to see him every day since.

“Missus Weasley arrived promptly at eight o’clock this morning. However, she did bring the whole staff muffins so I think she’s warming up to us.”

“Orange treacle muffins?” Harry lights up with hope.

She pats his arm and promises to send one in with his next round of potions. “If there’s any left, that is.”

“There’d better be!” he shouts at her back as she leaves the room, still laughing.

Molly rushes in no less than twenty seconds later and hugs Harry to her chest as best she can with him in his prone position.

“Oh, Harry, my boy. My sweet, sweet boy.”

He breathes in the warm, comforting scent she always seems to carry with her. It’s a mix of flowery perfume and the smell of bread rising and Harry just drinks it in. He recalls all the times that Ginny would complain about her mother smothering her by being too overprotective or otherwise trying to be involved in all aspects of her life. But Harry revels in it.

He loves how much Molly has always cared for him. Many a hazy summer afternoon was spent wishing she would show up at his window just like the twins did in the old Ford Anglia and take him away. Besides photographs and viewing the memories of others, he can’t recall his own parents anymore. Sure, it was comforting to see them before he went to die in the Forbidden Forest, but it was the images of Sirius and Remus that helped the most. His parents are simply an abstract idea (which he should probably seek mental health treatment for- perhaps Healer Briggs could help him after all- but that’s another problem for another day).

As far as Harry is concerned, Molly and Arthur are as much his parents as Lily and James. Which is why Harry practically swooned when he got scolded for calling them ‘Mister and Missus Weasley’ the first day they visited him in hospital.

“Hiya, Mum,” he greets her now, smiling into her neck.

“I made those muffins you like.”

“Healer Sherman told me. Are there any left?”

Molly pulls away from him so that she can give him a disbelieving look, as though he’s daft for even insinuating that she wouldn’t have baked enough muffins for Harry to eat them until he got sick. She waves her wand and a muffin comes floating into the room and directly into Harry’s hand.

He takes a big bite and then thanks her with his mouth still full. She swats him on the arm, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t do that on purpose. He gives a cheeky grin before taking another bite.

Molly moves about the room, tidying the plethora of ‘Get Well Soon’ cards and bouquets of flowers, and Harry watches her as he eats. The last six years have seen her age more than he first realized (though perhaps the war is to blame for some of that). Her hair is much more grey than he remembers it being. The lines beside her eyes and around her mouth are deeper. At least she doesn’t seem to hold the constantly-tired posture that once plagued her frame.

Harry wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and asks, “Where did we leave off?”

She hums as she takes a seat in the bedside chair, smoothing her skirt out around her legs. “Well, I told you about Ginny.”

“Star Seeker for the Harpies. Ever you wild child with no chance of settling down.”

“Unfortunately.”

He snorts at that one. Harry already got the full story from Ron. Ginny was with Dean for a while, which is how Ron met Nina, but then Dean left her for Seamus, which should have come as a surprise for absolutely no one. Then she was with this older bloke that everyone thought was creepy, until she finally got her head out of her arse and started seeing Luna like she should have in the first place.

Harry was more than a little relieved to find out that he and Ginny didn’t get back together after things calmed down. He enjoyed the snogging and the snuggling during his sixth year but she simply wasn’t the one for him. She hasn’t yet had the chance to visit him- being a pro athlete keeps her busy- but he’s looking forward to the opportunity to pick her brain and maybe fill in some of the many blanks he has in his own.

“You also told me about Percy.”

Molly’s face lights up with the mention of her once-wayward son. He’s back at the Ministry, though he’s nothing like the Percy from before the war. He’s an undersecretary in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, working to help solve problems and help people. Percy is also making up for his familial mistakes, forging strong relationships with each of his siblings that they never had when they were younger.

“He’s so good with Bill’s girls. When Dominique was struggling to sleep through the night and both Bill and Fleur were so exhausted they could hardly think, Percy was the one who dropped everything to stay with them. Victoire just adores him.” She nudges Harry and adds, “She adores you too, you know.”

“I…” his lip quivers. There’s so much he’s missed out on and yet this one hurts deeper than he imagined it would. With parents like Bill and Fleur, he’s sure Victoire is amazing. But he doesn’t remember her at all. What if he’s not the same now and she hates him? It would break his heart.

One look, and Molly reads him like a book. “Don’t fret, sweetheart. Children are resilient. Bill told her that ‘Uncle Harry’ had a bit of an accident at work and now he has trouble remembering things. We told her to be patient with you.”

“Does she really understand though?”

“Perhaps not entirely, but she is only five years old.”

Harry thinks back to himself at five. He was sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs, drowning in Dudley’s hand-me-down clothes, and already serving his wretched family at every meal. Why couldn’t he lose _those _memories? Quickly, to smother the negative thoughts he asks, “So who’s next?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until later for that answer,” Draco interrupts as he strides into the room. “I apologize, Missus Weasley,” he says with a slight bow. “I know you only just got to see him, but Harry has an appointment to keep.”

“Oh, it’s never long enough!” She gets up and gives Harry another long hug. “We’ll finish with the rest when you come back. In the meantime, you listen to your healers and follow all of their instructions. Just focus on getting better so we can take you home.”

He doesn’t bother mentioning that there is no ‘getting better’ from a missing leg. He knows she is speaking from her heart. Harry forces a smile onto his face and asks Molly to bring Arthur along in the afternoon when he gets off work. She agrees and leaves, looking back at him at least twice before she’s even out the door.

“You’re one of the lucky ones,” Draco says to break the silence left behind. Harry gives him a questioning look in return so he explains, “Most people don’t have such loyal visitors.” Harry can only laugh (because it would take death itself to keep Molly away), which was Draco’s plan all along. He likes to deliver happy patients to their mind healers. “Now let’s get you down to see Healer Briggs!”

Harry groans, “Do I have to?”

So much for a happy patient. “Yes. I have the wheelchair ready for you and you can either get yourself into it on your own volition or I can levitate you into it.”

“Oh, I’d like to see you try.”

“Is that a threat?”

“You wish.” Draco’s wand is out before Harry can even react. He’s yanked up from his bed and unceremoniously flung into the waiting wheelchair.

Harry wants to be mad but even he can admit that he had this coming. He chuckles and says, “Even missing six years’ worth of memories, you’d think I’d have learned.”

“Harry Potter? Learn something? Never…”

He punches Draco in the arm, who promptly punches him back before pushing his wheelchair out of the room and down the corridor.


	3. Coming to Terms with Reality

“Weasley might be our King but Potter is our Queeeeeeeeeeeeen!”

There’ve been plenty of times where Harry has felt embarrassed. There was the time before the Lake Task in his fourth year when he stood before the entire student body in nothing but his swimming trunks, that time in his fifth year that he kissed Cho and she started crying, not to mention the time sixth year when Ron and Seamus stole his clothes when he was showering and he had to streak back to their dorm. These moments and countless others pale in comparison to the song currently being belted about him- or, more accurately, about his sexuality.

Not that there’s anything to be ashamed about, and the lyrics are mostly just suggestive, but Harry is more than a little uncomfortable hearing about himself this way. He does feel some sense of comfort knowing that the Weasleys do not look down on him for liking men (it was something that Petunia and Vernon very openly abhorred). Do they know about Charlie? Did anything ever happen between them? Regardless, Harry’s rather sorry he asked about his dating life in the first place.

He puts a stop to their song as George and Ginny start in on a verse that is quickly becoming explicit. “People can hear you!” Harry scolds, face burning.

They both devolve into hysterical laughter that is only slightly quieter than their singing. Ginny punches him shoulder while George gives him a noogie. Harry can only sit there and take it while he wonders when he lost complete control of his life. He’d like to blame it on his injury and subsequent amnesia, but he has the feeling it happened long ago.

“Oh, relax, Harrykins,” George teases on he sits down onto the bed next to him. “You’ll be out there snatching up blokes again in no time. Unless…they didn’t lob off your prick along with your leg, did they?”

“They might have,” Ginny quips. “It’s about as big as one.”

“Is it now? It seems you’ve been holding out on us, eh, Potter?” George elbows him but all Harry can do is gape like a fish.

Ginny reaches across Harry to smack George. “Don’t get greedy! You’ve already got McLaggen, and he’s as macrophalic as they come.”

“Ooo! Very nice use of the word ‘macrophalic’ though I’m not sure my dear Mac would understand its meaning.”

“Ah, well, I suppose he can’t have the body of a god _and_ the brain of…well, another god.”

“Apparently not.” She smacks him again. “Watch it, Gin, or I’ll set my crup on you!”

“Oh, because I am so scared of your stupid little pet. It’s not even a crup! It’s a chihuahua!”

Harry’s voice is small when he asks, “You’re dating McLaggen?”

It’s as though the other two forgot Harry was there for a moment. They immediately stop their bickering and their faces mirror the same confusion he’s been feeling every day since he awoke- as though he’s always a few steps behind.

George snaps out of it first. “Yes,” Harry starts to nod until George adds, “and no. I know that doesn’t help! Give me a moment to explain. You see… bollocks, why is this harder to say to you than it was to Mum? Though, to be fair, Mum sort of walked in on us and got the explanation for herself. But you already know! Well, you did know, and now you don’t, but that shouldn’t-”

“What George-the-Eloquent over here is trying to say,” Ginny cuts in, “is that he, McLaggen, Angelina, and Alicia are all in a relationship. It's called polysomething.”

While it’s not unlike Ginny to be brash and no-nonsense, it _is_ very unlike George to be so unsure of himself. And by the way that he’s worrying his lip as he awaits a response, it’s obvious that George is concerned that Harry won’t approve. Did his past-self (that’s what he’s started referring to his actions from the past six years as) not approve? Did he pass judgement on their lifestyle? Turn away from his friends? Mock or ridicule them? He’s afraid to find out.

“Alright,” he replies, for lack of knowing anything else to say.

The corner of George’s mouth tilts up slightly. “Alright?”

Harry adjusts his glasses self-consciously in the silence left behind. “I mean… is that alright? That… I’m alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s alright.”

Ginny excuses herself under the pretense of finding the nearest toilet, and the two are left alone. Harry doesn’t want to ask; he _really_ doesn’t. He can’t fathom judging anyone so harshly. But if he has any hope of trying to get his life back together then he has to know.

“Before… was I…” He feels dim, talking like this. He clears his throat and tries again. “George, be honest with me. Was I not alright with it before? The first time you told me? Did I do or say something to make you think…?”

George sighs heavily. “It’s not a simple answer, really. You weren’t upset with there being multiple people- even Mum, surprisingly, seemed to understand that all of us just sort of needed each other- but you thought Angelina was only with me because she was still getting over Fred. It came from a place of concern, at least at first. You just couldn’t let it go. You said it was unhealthy and that I was using her weakness to force my way into a relationship with her.”

“George, I’m-”

“Harry, don’t. I know you’re sorry. You told me a hundred times over.”

“That was past-me. I don’t remember saying sorry, so I’m saying it now.”

“You also don’t remember saying those other things, so it’s unnecessary.”

“But-”

“No! Listen! I wasn’t innocent either. I said things I wish I could take back. I convinced Char-”

Harry hates himself a little bit as he shouts, “Stop! I don’t want to know!” It’s a lie. He wants to know so badly (especially because he could have sworn George was about to say 'Charlie'). But he also wants George to understand that things are different this time. “If I get to start over than so do you. I don’t care what happened before. I truly don’t. I love you, George. You’re my family. Whatever happened in the past is in the past.”

George turns and throws his arms around Harry’s shoulders. They give each other a squeezing hug, each holding on tighter than they planned on. Of course that’s when Ginny walks back into the room with Draco in tow.

“Oi, look what I found,” she teases as the two pull apart.

Draco gives her a light shove and then leans against the doorframe, cool as ever. “So, Potter…” he says with a smirk he’s not even pretending to hide, “Word- or song, maybe- is that you’re bent?”

“Get out, Malfoy!”

He acquiesces, but his cackling laughter can be heard echoing down the corridor. Harry wishes he could use his magic to disapparate.

* * *

The next morning starts early. Harry is awoken by Leila’s unwavering cheeriness. He’s able to move himself into his wheelchair on his own today. Leila gives him an approving cheer before wheeling him off to the therapy room. Once there, she immediately starts him in on his stretches.

Harry’s come to love the physical exertion: the stretch of his thigh muscles against the tension of the tension bands, the quiver in his triceps as he holds himself up by only his arms, even the way his back protests after Leila asks him for one more set (because it’s never just one more). He revels in it. It reminds him of the way Oliver Wood used to push them at Quidditch practice.

But that gets him thinking about the fact that he’ll never be able to do that again.

Leila catches his change in demeanor almost immediately. She has him sit and take a rarely-offered break. “You’re doing brilliantly, Harry, so what’s got you down?” she asks as he guzzles his water.

Harry feels bad because he doesn’t want to burden her with his problems. Sure, Quidditch was a big part of his life but he’s not a student at Hogwarts anymore and it’s not like he played professionally.

“Come on, now,” Leila nudges him. “I’m sure a lot of people go for the silent, brooding type but I’m not that kind of girl.”

He snorts, water threatening to come out of his nose. He appreciates her humor more than she knows. “I guess I was just imagining life without flying and it seemed pretty bleak.”

“You can still fly.”

Harry’s eyes fly wide. He blinks and asks, “What?” just to be sure.

“You can still fly,” Leila repeats herself with a knowing smile. “I know it may not seem like it right now, but you’re young and you’re strong and pretty soon you’ll be back to doing whatever you want to do. Within reason of course.”

He looks to the place where his lower leg used to be and then back up at Leila disbelievingly. “What about…” he trails off, not able to say the words out loud.

“Oh, that? Sure, you can’t keep the same balance with part of a limb missing but it’s entirely possible with the use of a prosthesis if you’re still interested in-”

“YES!”

Leila smiles broadly as she pats his shoulder and says, “Then I have some good news for you. You have another appointment with Healer Katdare this afternoon. Which, if all goes well, means I can begin working with you wearing the prosthesis as soon as tomorrow.”

Uncle Vernon often told Dudley that proper men don’t cry. Harry didn’t take much stock in his words then (especially considering the way Vernon blubbered when Hagrid tracked them down on Harry’s eleventh birthday), and he certainly couldn’t care less now. He doesn’t even wipe his face. Let the tears fall where they may. “And then I can go home?” Home. Even in saying it, the word seems so foreign to Harry.

“Technically speaking, the prosthesis has no bearings on your discharge from hospital. Some people choose to live without them and they are certainly allowed to return to their homes. We only keep you until we are sure that you can return to typical function in as many faculties as possible. So, after all of the improvements you’ve made, I believe that I can recommend you for discharge within the week. Therapy with the prosthesis will continue after that, but at least you can be at home and floo in for those appointments.”

Ron informed him that he lives at No.12 Grimmauld Place, having fixed it up enough to make it habitable, but Harry doesn’t want to go there. Maybe his past-self had come to terms with Sirius dying, but his present-self sure hasn’t. It’s all raw and new to him.

But none of this is Leila’s concern. Harry plasters on a grin, which she accepts (or at least pretends to accept) as truth. She claps her hands together and proclaims, “Your break is over! Let’s get these exercises finished so you can get cleaned up before your next appointment.”

And, at least for now, Harry is able to shove down his negative self-talk.

* * *

Healer Katdare is a man of few words. He manipulates what’s left of Harry’s leg, taking measurements and palpating the muscles.

Harry looks down at the balding head of the healer who holds his future in is hands. He trusts the older wizard, but feels uncomfortable in the silence. “Is it healing well?” he asks to fill the space.

“Magic healed it almost instantly,” Healer Katdare replies with no further explanation.

“Oh. I suppose I forgot about magic.”

Though he keeps working over Harry’s stump, he does glance up with an eyebrow raised nearly to his short, grey fringe. “Forgot about magic?”

“Well, sure. When I was young and living with my muggle family, I didn’t have magic to heal me when I got hurt. Sometimes I forget it can be as easy as taking a potion or casting a spell.”

Healer Katadare’s laugh is raspy and it takes Harry by surprise. “I was born to muggles, went to medical school, and became a doctor. I was always different but didn’t know why. I accepted a residency at Whittington Hospital and that is where I met my beautiful Hilda.” Harry can’t help but brighten at the dreamy expression his Prosthetist takes on. This is the first emotion Harry's seen him emote. “She did not care for the Statue of Secrecy. She told me she was a witch, and the more she talked the more I realized what was making me different my whole life; magic.”

“Is there not a magical school where you are from?”

“Nothing like the ones in Europe.” He goes back to working on Harry then, though he does continue his story. “I worked with medicine during the day and then with magic in the evenings. Hilda told me to study more and become a healer. I never regretted following her advice.”

“Magic gave you a deeper purpose,” Harry supplies.

Healer Katdare adjusts his glasses as he pauses to think of that one. “Professionally, yes. But it was Hilda who made me whole- and not just because she introduced me to magic.”

Harry may not be the most observant person around, but even he notices the use of past tense verbs. He doesn’t think Healer Katdare needs a reminder of his wife’s apparent passing, so he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead he gestures to his stumped leg and asks, “So what’s the verdict, Doctor?”

He emits the tiniest laugh at the moniker but then he’s back to being all business. “Healer Sherman said that you are progressing well in both strength and endurance, and I have no reason to believe that your leg shouldn’t physically be able to function with a prosthesis. Would you like to try it on?”

Harry doesn’t need to be asked twice. Healer Katdare steps into the next room, coming back less than a minute later holding a jointed prosthetic leg. It’s made of plain black fiberglass and stainless steel, and Harry hears a voice in his head that sounds a lot like Luna’s complain that they could have tried harder to make it look less boring. Perhaps she could help him decorate it.

He shows Harry how to wrap and unwrap the end of his stump, being careful to ensure there are no wrinkles or folds to irritate or even injure the sensitive skin. Then he fits the prosthesis over the wrap. It’s lose but he explains to Harry that unlike in the muggle world where it takes a series of molds and forms to make sure the fit is just right, they will use magic to size it perfectly to his leg.

He casts the spell and Harry feels along with sees the fiberglass tighten to a snug fit. It isn’t too tight nor does it pinch. It feels similar to the way his Quidditch leathers would adhere to his kit whilst playing a match in the rain. Healer Katdare pokes all around it, asking Harry if any part hurts, and casting a few spells to monitor blood flow. Only when he gets all of his answers does he suggest standing.

“Don’t even think about walking yet. You can stand in one place and if you are in any pain or feel like falling, tell me immediately.” He sets a walker on the floor directly in front of the medical table that Harry is sitting on. “Do you understand? No playing hero.”

Geeze. Has he spoken to Hermione or something? “I’ll stand still,” Harry promises as Healer Katdare takes him by the elbow and helps him to the floor.

It’s strange to say the least. He wobbles uneasily so his hands are guided to either side of the walker for balance. That helps. Once he feels confident enough, Harry shifts his weight ever so slightly from one leg to the other. It’s strange to feel his left foot on the floor but nothing below his thigh on the right. He glances down at his feet (one flesh, one not) and gets so disoriented that he has to ask for help sitting down.

Healer Katdare brings over his wheelchair and he helps him into it. Once seated, he shows Harry how the joint bends. It’s not like a typical knee would bend, so it further disorients Harry. He’s assured that most- if not all- patients feel this way and that it’s something that will likely ease in time.

Harry doesn’t mind the silence now as he did at the beginning of his appointment. The room is silent as Healer Katdare goes about removing the prosthetic leg and accompanying wrap. In fact, Harry’s quiet for the remainder of his appointment. He’s quiet in his refusal for help from the mediwitch who comes to take him back to his room. He’s quiet as they bring him supper that he only picks at. Thankfully, his attending healer doesn’t push the issue.

He knew life was going to be different as soon as Draco told him about his missing leg. He just never imagined it would be quite this hard. He’s _The Boy Who Lived Twice _for god’s sake! He should be able to face any challenge thrown at him! If only he didn’t have to face this one alone.


	4. Moving Forward. Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens with a flashback (in italics).

_The footsteps on the stairs might be quiet, but Harry hears them nonetheless. He’s aware of every creak and moan of the Burrow around him. He used to feel safe here. Now he doesn’t feel safe anywhere. He knows it’s probably just one of the Weasleys, or one of their countless guests, but his fingers wrap around his wand anyway._

_“Happy Birthday-Eve, Harry.”_

_That voice makes his shoulders relax (though he doesn’t relinquish the grip on his wand). “Cheers.”_

_There are plenty of seats available in the living room, but Charlie sits directly beside him on the sofa. “Some time for a wedding, huh?” Harry only shrugs in response, but Charlie doesn’t give up. “And the day before your seventeenth. Pft! Bill’s such a prat, only thinking of himself.”_

_It’s obvious he’s teasing and Harry can’t help the way his face just automatically responds with a smile. Charlie notices and nudges him, which only makes Harry’s smile grow wider._

_“I don’t mind sharing my birthday,” he finally answers._

_“Birthday-Eve,” Charlie corrects, and the two share a chuckle. Then he takes Harry’s hand and forcibly uncurls his fingers from the holly wood. “You wouldn’t want to accidentally snap it in half.”_

_Harry blanches at the very thought. “Just imagining life without my wand is awful.”_

_“You could always get a new one.”_

_“Sure, but everyone says they’re never the same as your first.”_

_“Eh, saving yourself for your one true match is overrated.” Harry’s mouth drops open at the double entendre, cheeks staining pink at the implication. His flush only deepens when Charlie winks at him._

_Taking pity, Charlie only makes him sit there for a moment more before offering a distraction. He takes Harry’s wand and does a simple swish-and-flick. A half-knitted scarf from the back of his mother’s preferred chair floats towards his outstretched hand._

_“See?” he says. “You can do magic with any wand. Sometimes your magic may not be as fluid, but you can still get the job done. And I know Mister Ollivander says the wand picks the wizard, but he’s never said that only one wand can pick a wizard. I got a new wand when I graduated and it’s treated me well all these years. I gave my first wand to Ronnie when he started school. Granted, he snapped it the next year doing, oh, what was it again? Flying our father’s car into the Whomping Willow?”_

_Embarrassment forgotten, Harry smiles at the memory (time has lessened the peril of the situation). The smile may also be a little bit for the way it felt to see Charlie using his wand, but no one has to know that but him._

_“You lot always seem to get into trouble. I should have known at the end of your first year, when you wrote me saying you had a baby dragon that needed collecting, that nothing in your lives was ever going to be normal. I just hope your final year Hogwarts is less eventful than the last six.”_

_Harry promised himself he wouldn’t tell anyone else his plan, but he can’t keep it a secret. Not from Charlie. “I’m not going back.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I have a job to do. I have to find a way to end this; all the fighting, all the hatred, all the violence. It ends with me.”_

_Charlie takes his face in his hands and gives him a look so sad it nearly breaks his heart. “Harry. You don’t have to take on the world yourself. That’s why the Order is here. They’re all here to help.”_

_“You wouldn’t understand.”_

_“Then help me understand.”_

_Harry fists Charlie’s shirt and pulls him in to a bruising kiss. It’s much too hard and much too soon, but Harry figures this is the last chance he’ll ever have so he may as well go for it. He also hopes that he can distract Charlie from asking more questions, and if the sounds he’s hearing from him are any indication then Harry would say he’s doing a bang up job._

_Charlie slides his hands from Harry’s face to his sides, then his hips, then his arse. Each new placement only encourages Harry to deepen his efforts. It’s obvious that he’s less experienced than Charlie, but there’s also something to be said for sheer intuition and simple desire._

_Harry gasps as he’s lifted up and pulled onto Charlie’s lap, though his surprise only lasts a few seconds before he’s diving back in for more. He can feel Charlie ruck up his shirt and he sighs as warm, calloused hands caress his back. He shudders as Charlie’s lips move from his mouth down the bolt of his jaw and then to his neck, peppering the skin with kisses and licks and driving him crazy._

_But just as sudden as he pulled him in, Charlie pulls away again. Harry’s chest, which just before felt so full, now feels like it’s clamping shut. He’s nearly suffocating from it._

_“I’m sorry,” Charlie gasps out, breathing heavily still._

_Harry thinks he might cry. “Why!?”_

_“You’re not yet seventeen; I’m basically a pedo. I’m so, so sorry.” He stands up abruptly and Harry crashes to the floor._

_He lays there, just watching him run away and back up the stairs. He hates to admit it, but Charlie has a point. He’s seven years older than Harry. And had Harry himself been older, then perhaps the age difference would not seem so significant. But as things stand now he sees no situation that Charlie won’t regret their actions in the morning. However, all the realizations in the world can’t stop his heart from breaking._

_Harry drags a knitted blanket from the sofa and wraps himself up in it, content to stay on the floor. The last thing he does before falling into a fitful sleep is grab his wand once again for safety. No more distractions. He has to stay safe so that he can save the world._

* * *

Waking up confused about his surroundings is nothing new to Harry. Most mornings he has to remind himself where he is and why. Dusty air overwhelms his senses and the last few months come flooding back.

He’s at Grimmauld Place. Ron was right; his past-self had fixed up the house just enough for it to be livable (and even that is debatable). The wallpaper is still peeling, the windows are still clouded over with dust on the inside and city pollution on the outside, and there’s an undeniable smell of mold. Harry knows that he should be taking care of the old house better than this, but he’s barely taking care of himself.

As positive as Harry’s progress started out with his physio, he’s hit a plateau. Leila assures him that it’s entirely normal and that he just has to be sure not to backslide. But Harry’s not the same person he used to be.

He missed one of his appointments with her because he never got out of bed that day. It was all too easy to miss a second one, and then a third, and now he blocks all floo connections from St. Mungo’s for fear of Leila coming through and dragging him back. He still practices the stretches on his own when he’s feeling up to it, but as Harry tries to remember the last time he actually took the time to work on his body he can’t recall when that was.

He groans as he rolls over on the sofa in the ground floor sitting room. That’s where he sleeps now because going up and down the stairs is a nightmare. Deep down, Harry knows that doing therapy will help. He just can’t find it in himself to care.

“Kreacher!” he shouts without bothering to sit up.

The old elf appears with a clunky pop. “What can Kreacher get the Defender of House Elves?”

It’s a joke anymore- at least Harry _hopes_ it’s just a joke- but that’s how he greats him every time he’s summoned.

“Would you please get me something to eat?”

“What should Kreacher cook?”

“You don’t have to cook, just fix me a sandwich. Maybe some tea.”

Kreacher snaps his fingers and a tea set appears on the small table that’s within reach from the sofa. “There is always tea. Kreacher will go make you a…_sandwich_.”

He pops away again and Harry chuckles at his apparent disdain for sandwiches. Apparently past-Harry would let him cook full meals three times a day (though he has no idea how one person could eat all that).

Harry finally pushes himself up to sitting so he can drink his tea. Just as he lifts the cup to take a sip, a loud bang rattles the house. Harry grabs his newly-recovered wand (it took a handful of gold to bribe someone into stealing it back from auror custody for him) and points it toward the closed doors. His eyes flit around the room and find his walker and crutches too far away to grab from his current position. He scooches across the sofa, grunting with each hop. It’s a lot of strain on his underused muscles. He’s sweating by the time he’s to the end, and even stretching full out he can’t reach anything to help him.

“Bloody hell,” Harry curses under his breath. “Kreacher!”

The elf appears with a thud, breathing heavily. “Kreacher could not stop them, Master Harry.”

“Who? You couldn’t stop _who_, Kreacher?”

The doors bang open, spraying dust and splinters into the room. Harry throws up a protego over himself and Kreacher. It keeps them safe but it further obscures their vision from the intruders.

Harry drops the spell as the dust begins to settle but before anything can come into view he’s suddenly hefted up from the sofa.

“What the fuck?!” His arms and legs flail as he desperately tries to free himself from his captor. Just as he thinks about using his wand, he feels it slip from hand and a small _thwack_ sound tells him that it hits the palm of another person.

“Now, now, Potter,” a distinctive drawl chides him. “Is that any way to treat Hagrid? You once told me that our dear friend deserves better than that.”

Harry stops struggling, instead taking in the heavily-clad arms that hold him. This does feel oddly familiar, comforting even. He twists his body but only gets a face full of beard for his efforts. “Malfoy? Hagrid? What are you doing?”

“Yer friends say yer not helpin’ yerself,” Hagrid answers sadly. “I’m not goin’ t’ let ye waste away in this hole.”

“But how’d you even get in?”

“Ye think ye can keep me out? Yer dim uncle couldn’t and neither can you.”

“And Hermione let us in,” Draco clarifies.

Harry tries again to free himself but Hagrid’s grip only tightens. “Fine,” he says, sagging into the giant’s hold. “Will you please let me down?”

“No can do.”

“So what exactly is your plan? Hagrid is just going to hold me like an infant forever?”

Hagrid chuckles, shaking Harry slightly in his hold. “No, yer comin’ with us.”

“And where exactly are you taking me?”

“Home.”

“But I am h-”

“Spare us,” Draco cuts in. “This place is a disaster. I hated it when I was a child and had to visit my great aunt, and that’s when it was in its prime. Now it’s dreadful.”

“I was fixing it up!” Harry argues.

“Oh, were you? Apologies for not being able to tell.” Draco hears a little harumphy grumble come from Harry but he chooses to ignore it. “Was this what’s been keeping you from your physio appointments? _Fixing-up_ the house?”

“How did you…so much for healer/patient confidentiality!”

“You are the most famous person in the wizarding world, Harry. What did you expect? Half of St. Mungo’s thinks you’re dead.”

“That’s why we’re here,” he hears his best friend say as he joins them. “I figured you’d be fine, all things considered, just stubborn.” Then Ron tells Draco, “‘Mione is finishing with his bags and told me to find his fake leg. Any idea where it is?”

“Against that wall,” Harry tells them. “But what’s the point?”

“_What’s the poooint?_” Draco repeats in a mockingly high, sing-songy voice.

He can hear an obvious slap and then Ron says, “Harry, we thought we’d lost you once. We just want you back.”

Harry sighs, “I’ll never be back to who I used to be.”

“None of us are who we used to be, mate.”

“Listen to the man,” Draco adds, tone stern but still much softer than normal. It must be his hand that reaches out and rests on Harry’s shin (the only part of him not swallowed up by Hagrid’s coat). “I know things aren’t great now, but they _can_ get better.”

“Says you.”

“Exactly. If there’s anyone that knows how low your lowest can really get, wouldn’t it be me? And if I can dig my way back up then so can you. Trust me. You’ve always been the strong one.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. Hagrid and Ron working with Draco surely means something. But he’s tried to be strong and it didn’t work.

“Don’t give up, Potter.”

If Harry didn’t know better, he’d say Draco was crying. He waits.

“If you give up now… then… what was all this for? I know for you it seems like just yesterday, so you should know better than any of us. You stood up and you fought. You should have been dead but you never gave up. Where is that Harry Potter now? Where is the Golden Boy who lived to prove me wrong? I believed in him back then. Against my own safety, I believed in him. And I think deep down he’s still in there. You just have to believe in you.”

A low sniff jostles Harry and now he realizes that Hagrid is crying over him as well. He doesn’t know if he has it in him, but for these people he’s willing to try at least once more. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“About time.” And that’s Hermione. “I had half the mind just to hurl this portkey at the lot of you and hope for the best.”

Ron scoffs and Harry just imagine the offended glare he’s sending her way.

Draco looks around the room and pulls a face in disgust. “Do you want me to hire someone to clean this place up? I don’t mean to offend, but this truly is hellish.”

“Because that’s not offensive,” Harry mumbles. Then he sighs and admits, “It really has gotten out of hand. Don’t look in the third floor if you want to keep your lunch down. Sirius kept Buckbeak up there.”

“Ye mean Witherwings,” Hagrid reminds him and Harry bursts out laughing.

“How could I forget! Is he doing well?”

“He is. Ye’ll get to see him soon enough.” And then Hagrid shifts, lifting Harry a little higher in his arms. “Ye ready?”

“I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

“We’ll be right behind you,” Hermione promises.

“Where to?”

“Didn’t I already say?” Hagrid says with a smirk, as though he’s enjoying knowing something that Harry doesn’t. “Home. Hold on tight.”

Harry doesn’t like the spinning feeling that accompanies portkey travel- and he _really_ wishes he knew where they were headed- but it’s not so bad being held tightly by Hagrid. He closes his eyes and for the briefest moment he has a memory. Yet, there’s no way it can be real. He’s small, much smaller than he is now, and he knows that because Hagrid’s arms are infinite in their largeness. He can hear the sound of a motorbike puttering and feel the rush of wind on his face. He looks up and sees the stars whizzing by. And then he sees Hagrid’s face, younger than he’s ever seen outside of a photograph and that one memory of Tom Riddle from the diary horcrux, gazing down at him in wonder.

They hit the ground with a very definite thud and for the first time since he picked Harry up at Grimmauld Place, Hagrid loosens his hold and lets him sit up and look around. But the only place he looks is up at Hagrid.

“You…did you…” Harry doesn’t know what to ask or how to ask it. “Hagrid, you saved me before, didn’t you?”

“S-saved ye? No, no…I’ve never saved anyone,” he claims humbly.

Then Harry has another memory, this one much clearer than the first. Hagrid is carrying him back from the Forbidden Forest. That moment meant a lot to Harry, the tenderness which Hagrid held him, the careful way he stepped as to not jostle his body. It’s clear now that that was not the first time he’d done so.

“Was it after my parents were killed?”

“Ye can’t remember tha’! Ye were a baby!”

Harry twists around to hug Hagrid as best he can, clutching his arms around him and holding on tight. “Thank you,” he breathes into his neck, “for always looking out for me.”

Hagrid hugs him back so hard that Harry can hardly breathe, and then slowly lowers him to the ground. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to blow his nose and dab at his eyes.

Harry has to hold onto Hagrid’s jacket so that he can stand and that’s when he thinks about his crutches and walker, both of which they left behind. “Umm,” he says and looks down at his affliction.

“Oh! Of course, ye need these.” Hagrid shoves the handkerchief back away before pulling a shrunken-up set of crutches out of another pocket. He then brandishes a wand and resizes them back to normal. Then he hands them to Harry, who gives a thankful nod before asking about the wand. “I’ve get Hermione, Ron, and yerself to thank fer that. Ye got Kingsley t’ change my legal status and I took the classes and sat the exams and now I can do full magic again!”

“I’m so happy for you, Hagrid. It’s long overdue.”

Hagrid beams with pride. “Ye said the same thing back then. Still feels good.”

Harry smiles back and then takes in his surroundings for the first time since they’ve arrived. It’s still far off in the distance, but there’s no doubt about where they are. “Hogwarts,” he utters in a hushed awe.

“I did say we were goin’ home.”

And for the first time since he woke up his bed in St. Mungo’s, Harry feels like things are headed in the right direction. And maybe he’s not as alone as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love this chapter. It flowed and made me laugh and tear up as I was writing it (I'm emotional like that). I hope you liked it even half as much as I do :)


	5. There's No Place Like Home

Harry barely makes it 50 metres before his breathing becomes so labored that he cannot continue on. He leans forward over his crutches and tries to catch his breath but all he can do is desperately suck in air. He could kick himself for skipping his physiotherapy, especially now that he can’t even walk the length of a football pitch without dying.

Hagrid doesn’t even ask if he needs help. He just reaches a large hand down to support him, which keeps Harry from crumpling to the group.

“Maybe…” wheeze “you…” wheeze “can…” wheeze “carry me…” wheeze “again?” He should be more embarrassed, but right now he’s just grateful for his giant friend who lifts him up as though he weighs nothing.

“Sorry we couldn’ land ye closer. The wards are too strong.”

Harry waves it off, hoping the gesture doesn’t seem too dismissive. After all, it’s not Hagrid’s fault that he can’t walk well.

The repeated _woosh-plunk_ sound of several people apparating behind them signals the arrival of Hermione, Ron, and Draco. They make idle chatter as the group walks closer towards Hogwarts. As the castle comes into view, Harry sits up more to get a better look around. It looks nothing like he remembers. Harry can still see in his mind’s eye the smoldering ruins that were left here six years ago. But now the courtyard walls have been rebuilt, the tower roofs are no longer missing tiles, and everywhere grass and young trees are growing. It’s comforting, that all change is not bad.

Yet, one thing has not changed at all and she’s currently walking out through the front doors of the castle at a quick pace. Professor McGonagall still wears her grey hair in a neat bun on her head with nary a hair out of place. She still dons her tartan robes, though this set is not the heavy wool of winter that Harry thinks of as iconic to her character at this point. She hastens towards them only to stop just a few steps away.

“Mister Potter, I understand you’re going to be joining us for a while?”

He feels like he’s brand new all over again, new to this magical school and being asked about something he doesn’t quite understand. “Uh…”

Draco snickers and Harry whips around to give him a glare. McGonagall is quicker, though.

“Mister Malfoy, are you quite done?”

He hangs his head and answers softly, “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Now, Mister Potter, I asked you a question.”

“I guess,” Harry answers with a shrug. Hoping not to get scolded like Draco he quickly adds, “This lot just showed up and said I was coming, no questions asked. I’m happy enough to be here but it wasn’t exactly my choice.”

“Well look where your choices got you.”

He cringes and looks away, not able to meet her eyes anymore. “Sorry.”

“It’s only something to be sorry about if you don’t learn from it,” McGonagall replies gently. “According to your friends, you just need a bit of guidance. And what better place than here.”

“Are you certain I won’t be in your way?”

“The term just ended so the castle is mostly empty- and will be for a few months- so unless you actively try to interfere with the staff’s summer work, you won’t be a bother to anyone.”

Harry thinks on this for a moment and finds several holes in their plan. “How exactly will living here help me? There’s not really anything for me to do all day. And what about those stairs? I couldn’t get up one set at Grimmauld Place.”

As a surprise to absolutely no one, Hermione has an answer for everything. “Madam Pomfrey agreed to call in a physiotherapist for you, someone who specializes in amputees using prosthetics and is willing to work with you right here. You won’t have to go in to St. Mungo’s. As for your mobility throughout the castle, I read in _Hogwarts, A History_ that it has been known to alter itself as needed for students with conditions outside of the ordinary.”

Ron and Harry share an amused look because of course her affinity for referencing her favorite textbook has not waned, even after all these years. The only difference is that Harry notices Draco out of the corner of his eye. And while he shares in their amusement, he also looks on fondly. In school Draco surely would have some wiseacre response. But now? He’s adorably smitten.

Professor McGonagall nods her head and agrees, “You will be made quite comfortable, I’m sure.”

“But, why?” Harry has never considered himself special (even with all the “Chosen One” nonsense during sixth year). Surely this is too much accommodation for one person. Perhaps there’s a… home or something they can send him to, full of other people like him. Used. Broken.

McGonagall levels him with one of her calculating stares. To Harry it always felt like she could read his mind, though she rarely seemed to act on the knowledge. “Mister Potter, you have given this world more than it can ever repay you.” Harry starts to protest but she continues on. “Don’t try to refute me. You’ve been sacrificing yourself before you even knew what you were doing. Your friends as well,” she nods to Ron and Hermione. “You were so good at it, you just saw it as what was necessary; the only course of action to take. But not every eleven-year-old would sacrifice themselves so readily as you three. And no one has sacrificed as much as you, Harry.”

The use of his given name takes him by surprise even more so than when Draco says it. Professor McGonagall has never been anything but professional and formal, so the use of it in her mouth seems strange indeed.

“T-thank you?” Harry stutters out in reply, tone questioning despite his actual gratitude.

She all but rolls her eyes. “Follow me,” she says as she turns on her heel. “Though I trust you know the way.” She walks a few strides before stopping abruptly and facing Harry. “Oh, and welcome home, Mister Potter.”

* * *

Harry can’t recall a moment where the castle was so empty, yet he supposes it makes sense. Professors are people too. Surely they make plans to travel or visit family or just be away from school in the summer months. It’s still unnerving to hear very little sound echoing off the stone walls. It was unnerving (though Harry had always been uncomfortable with too much silence).

McGonagall leads them to an assumingly small door off of the Entrance Hall. “What’s in there?” Ron blurts out.

Draco scoffs and rolls his eyes but Harry loves it. He realizes that he’s missed Ron over the last months as he’s been hiding away from the world. “Yea! What is it?” he backs up his mate. “I’ve never been in any of these rooms before. Is it like the small chamber behind the Great Hall?”

McGonagall’s mouth opens but she never gets a word in edgewise. Despite the pride she feels for her former student’s knowledge, she levels her patented glare at the back of Hermione’s head as the answer is given by the younger woman.

“These are staff quarters, Harry. They’re not always used but they’re always here. Do you remember when Firenze taught Divination?” she asks Harry.

“Oh, he remembers,” Ron answers instead. Everyone shoots him a series of odd looks, except for Harry, who doesn’t look up from the floor. His cheeks darken as the others turn slowly from Ron to him.

Harry stammers a bit. “I-I…” He drops his voice to a harsh whisper so only he and Ron can hear and spits out, _“I was fifteen!”_

_“Doesn’t matter how old you were; it’s still funny.” _

_“You promised not to tell!”_

_“Oh, come off it, it was just a wet dream.”_

_“Ron!”_

_“What?”_

_“Fine! Then I’ll tell them about how at the Yule Ball you weren’t jealous of Viktor Krum for getting to kiss Hermione, you were jealous of Hermione for getting to kiss Viktor!”_

_“So? He’s a fit bloke! If he showed up right now and asked me to take it up the arse I would!”_

Hermione and McGonagall share an eye roll and pretend to not overhear. Draco and Hagrid don’t even pretend. Hagrid is doubled over, hands on his knees, guffawing. Draco is leaning up against him, wiping at his eyes with one hand as the other arm is wrapped across his own stomach.

The women, however, could not look more disgusted in the two of them. McGonagall makes that known, in no uncertain terms. “Enough!” Both Harry and Ron clamp their mouths closed and have the decency to be ashamed at their own behavior. “I spend all year with school children and I have no desire to spend my holiday with two grown men acting like them.” She flings open the wooden door and gesture everyone inside. Harry is sure he hears her mumble, _“I need a strong cup of mead after this,”_ as they all file in past her.

“This is where you’ll stay.” McGonagall gestures to the cozy room. Harry turns slowly taking in the space. “You have a sitting room with a fireplace. We can connect the floo or leave it disconnected if that’s what you wish. Your bedroom is through that door, en suite to the left.” She gives Harry a moment to take it in. “Any questions?”

“Do we, um, eat in the Great Hall?”

“Not as a group during the summer, no. Kreacher arrived just before you did. He’s already in the kitchens and is the one you should call when you’re hungry. I’m sure the elves wouldn’t mind the company in there, but you are free to eat wherever you choose.”

Harry nods his head, appreciating everything that’s been done for him. “And you’re positive that I won’t be a burden to anyone?”

“Only if you keep asking stupid questions,” McGonagall answers with no lack of cheek.

Harry laughs; he feels lighter now than he has in a long while. He just hopes the feeling lasts once everyone leaves him and he’s all alone again.

* * *

Professor McGonagall and Hagrid leave them to help Harry get set up in his new rooms. Hermione manages to talk Harry into sitting down with Ron while she and Draco unshrink his belongings and start putting his things away. Harry knows he’ll probably move them all again once they leave but he’s thankful for their help regardless.

Ron calls Kreacher for some tea and then he and Harry sit at the small table beside the window to wait. Ron kicks Harry’s foot with one of his own and says, “So, I’ve got some days off coming up here soon. Nina and I were going to go to the coast but I could come up here with you, if that’s something you want.”

“Ron,” Harry sighs. “Don’t put your holiday aside on account of me. I don’t need pity. It means enough that you did this for me, especially considering you don’t do magic much anymore.”

He shrugs at the last comment. “It’s not like I hate magic, I’m just living amongst muggles now. And Nina would understand! I’m worried about you, mate.”

“I hate that.” Harry doesn’t realize at first that he’s uttered that one out loud. Then he takes in Ron’s crestfallen features and he knows he’s messed up. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s still just hard to believe that people care about me so much.” Then, to lighten the mood he adds, “You did kidnap me less than an hour ago.”

Ron can’t help but crack a smile, though the underlying sadness remains. “Sometimes I forget about your self-worth issues.”

“Self-worth?”

Kreacher pops in with their tea and Ron thanks him before busying himself preparing two cups the way he knows they like it. “You know,” he says while he’s fussing about, “Because of your awful family? You don’t think you deserve our love?”

Harry stares at him completely gob smacked, mouth hanging open dimly. “I what?”

Ron looks thoughtful for a moment before he says, “I suppose this version of you hasn’t evolved much past I’m-going-to-die-for-all-wizardkind-because-no-one-will-care-if-I-live-or-not-anyway, but that’s okay. We’ll keep wearing you down just like we did before.”

He flashes a big shit-eating grin before taking a huge gulp of his tea. Harry cringes because Ron always drinks his tea ridiculously hot and it’s painful to watch. He glances down at his own tea to think about what Ron just said. Does he really think he’s not deserving of love? Sure, people are bending over backwards for him even now but McGonagall had said that was because they owed him for saving everyone, not because they love him. And what did Ron mean by ‘wear him down’? Was he resistant to love? Is he still? He hasn’t really thought much about love since leaving the hospital. Okay, so he has the occasional dream about a certain fiery-haired dragon handler but that’s all in a past he has to keep reminding himself is barely connected to this present.

Harry shakes his head to clear out the conflicting thoughts. “Who’s ‘we’?” he asks.

“Me, ‘Mione, Malfoy, Nev, Luna, Gin, George and his gang, Bill, Fleur, their girls, Mum and Dad…Charlie…”

Harry might be slow on the uptake but he’s not that slow. He fights to keep his voice even as he dares to ask, “How is Charlie? He’s the only one I haven’t seen yet.”

Ron worries his bottom lip before he says carefully, “I owled him after the accident, told him what happened.”

“Did he…respond?”

“No.”

The word is barely out of his mouth when Harry blurts, “That’s fine! He’s busy! Busy bloke out there with his dragons and whatnot. He shouldn’t be concerned about me. He’s got far better things to do than come all the way up here to see me. I shouldn’t even have asked! Of course he’s-”

“Harry!” Ron has to shout to cut off his self-deprecating. “Look. I don’t know exactly what happened between you two…before. All I know is that Charlie was in a real bad place but then he wasn’t anymore. I sort of thought you were the reason he pulled through. But then you got really into your work and I didn’t hear from you much anymore. Didn’t hear much from Charlie, either. On holidays it felt like you were avoiding each other.” He can see Harry deflate at the discouraging report and starts to backpedal. “But it’s all just speculation! Neither one of you ever said anything so, you know, just ignore me. I’m an idiot.” He gulps the rest of his tea and hopes that he hasn’t done too much damage.

Harry tries not to let the hollow feeling inside his chest consume him. He’s dying to know what really happened with Charlie, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up like he did when he was younger. And besides, Ron has never been the best at feelings. Hermione was right when she once told him he had the emotional range of teaspoon. Although, times have changed. Ron could be right about all of it.

The sound of Hermione and Draco coming back in from his bedroom distracts him enough to keep from spiraling (for now). He gives Ron a grateful nod before turning to the others. Draco has hands in his pockets, looking far more casual than he ever did in their formative years. Perhaps it’s the way the top button of his shirt is undone or the way his now-brown hair is tousled artfully. No matter the reason, Harry likes it. Hermione also looks happier than he can remember her being as she casually wraps herself around one of Draco’s arms, her long curly hair fanning out around her. They look cute together and Harry doesn’t have to fake the smile he sends their way.

His friends are here. They want to help him. A lot of people want to help him. He can accept that.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading and who keeps on reading! Drop a comment and we can chat about your thoughts/ideas :)


	6. The Master of Death? Call me Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens with a flashback (in italics). Or is it...?

_Harry’s on edge as he tip-toes down a dark, deserted alley. He doesn’t recall how he got here or what he’s doing in such a dismal place. A calculated glance in either direction reveals no immediate threat, but as the owner of an Invisibility Cloak he knows better. And besides, there are plenty of spells that can obscure one from sight just as easily._

_His robes rustle softly as he brandishes his wand- the new one that he uses- from a holster on his hip. Where did that come from? How did he know it was there? And why is he wearing these heavily protective robes? The strange thoughts cause him to misstep, sinking the toe of his dragon hide boots into a deceptively deep puddle. He swears under his breath before he can stop himself and that’s enough to alert someone to his presence._

_“Auror Potter,” a man says and steps out of the shadows._

_“Auror?” Harry repeats, confused._

_The man blinks, seemingly just as perplexed. But he quickly regains his composure and scowls once more. “You’re a worse actor than your partner,” he growls._

_“Partner?”_

_“Merlin, maybe you are that stupid.” He reaches into a doorway and pulls another man roughly by the arm._

_Harry can’t tell who it is, but his arms are bound behind his back and there’s a gag tied across his mouth. It’s the auror robes that catch his attention. It’s the same ones he’s wearing. His partner…wait a minute. It’s tough to tell behind the blood and grime caked on his face but Harry thinks he recognizes William Bellows from when he visited him at St. Mungo’s._

_St. Mungo’s. The accident. His leg. Harry looks down and realizes for the first time that he has two intact legs. He wiggles his the toes on his right foot just to relish in the feeling once again. It almost brings a smile to his face, if not for the absurdity of the situation. Where is he? When is he?_

_“Oi, Potter! Are you listening or what? You give me the dragon eggs and I’ll give you your partner back in one piece.”_

_Will’s eyes widen and Harry can tell he’s scared. Maybe if he can distract the man he can sneak closer to Will and disapparate them both out of this place. So Harry does what he’s always been able to do: get the bad guy to monologue._

_“What do you want with dragon eggs, Rowatt?” he asks, though he doesn’t know where that name came from. Did he just make it up?_

_He must be right because the man give no indication otherwise. Only a harsh bark of a laugh echoes off the brick walls around them. “What do you think? I want to raise ‘em up and have me a whole army of dragons.”_

_“How are you going to control them? They’re wild animals with extremely bad tempers.” He takes two small steps as he talks, which go seemingly unnoticed._

_“I’ll be there when they hatch. They’ll imprint on me.”_

_“How do you know that will work?” Another few steps._

_“I seen it on the telly with ducklings.”_

_“Can’t argue with that logic.” Will is almost within reach. “But why do you think I can help you get those dragon eggs?” He just has to stretch-_

_“You know that dragon bloke.”_

_Harry stops cold, mission forgotten. “What dragon bloke?”_

_“Red hair. Burly. No use denying it. It was all over the papers.”_

_“I haven’t seen him in years.” How Harry gets the words out through his clenched jaw is anybody’s guess. Some sort of time-travel-gone-wrong (or whatever this is) is not how he wanted to learn more about Charlie._

_“That’s not what I’ve heard.”_

_“Well you've heard wrong!”_

_The air around them starts to crackle._

_“What are you doing??” Rowatt demands to know._

_Harry doesn’t answer but he doesn’t have to. Everyone in that alley knows what’s happening. Only Harry has the power to stop it and he’s not so sure he wants to right now. He thinks it might be a relief to be consumed by the magic simmering within him._

_“Fine,” Rowatt levels his wand at Will. “Have it your way. Crucio!”_

_And that’s all it takes for Harry. He raises his arm and casts the only spell he’s ever regretted. Except, this time, there is no regret. “Sectumsempra!”_

_Fortunately, Rowatt’s curse never hits Will._

_Unfortunately, the two spells collide in the space between the three men, backfiring in every direction. Harry screams as a now-familiar pain radiates from his leg. Rowatt disapparates on the spot, causing his binding spells to drop away. Will removes his gag now that his arms are free and falls to the ground to hold onto his partner. He’s not sure Harry can even hear him but he tries to assure him that they’re headed to St. Mungo’s and that everything is going to be okay._

* * *

Harry wakes up in a cold sweat. He takes stock of his location and finds himself nestled snugly within his bed in his new quarters at Hogwarts. What was that? A dream? A memory? A mere figment of own mind? He rubs at his eyes and desperately tries to find the reality- if any- of what he just witnessed. However, the only thing to come to mind are the words of his old headmaster: _“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?”_

He very briefly considers seeking out Professor Trelawney for some insight, but decides to not open that can of worms right now. He’s had enough of her predictions to last a lifetime. And besides, today he’s set to have his first physio appointment in months. He’ll save Trelawney’s analysis of his dream for another time.

Harry is just finishing up his toast and tea when a knock sounds on the door. Crutching his way over he opens it and is greeted by an familiar face. And by familiar, he means the way she’s currently looking at him with her classic mix of warmth and disappointment.

“Hullo, Madam Pomfrey,” he greets her.

The Matron of Hogwarts walks into the room without waiting for an invitation. She takes a quick look around before immediately declaring the space, “Unacceptable.”

Harry shrugs somewhat self-consciously. Sure, he hasn’t decorated much but it’s cozy enough. “I, er, well, I like it.”

“I’m not passing judgement on your living quarters, Mister Potter,” she says with a sigh. “I was checking to see if there was enough room here for your physiotherapy, which there is not, so we will have to set up a room for that purpose.” She looks him over. “I suppose a certain place on the seventh floor is out of the question, even though it could provide us with everything we need.”

“Are you talking about the Room of Requirement?” Harry isn’t sure exactly how many people know of that room’s existence.

“The what now?” Madam Pomfrey gives him a look that could _almost_ be called a smirk before she’s right back to herself. “No, no seventh floor for you but I bet we can fix up the room next to Filius.”

“Professor Flitwick’s room is close by?”

“He’s just across the corridor. I’m surprised you haven’t seen him yet.”

“Was that a short joke?” The very man of their conversation pops his head in, seemingly having walked by the still-open door and overheard them. He laughs and waves off his own joke. “Only teasing! But I am glad I caught you. Come by for dinner tonight, Mister Potter. I have a proposition for you.” He gives a little wave that Harry returns and then he’s gone again.

Harry always liked Professor Flitwick. He was a great teacher, never treating anyone better than anyone else- including Harry and his friends. He gave just as much praise to Draco and his friends when they successfully cast their spells. He took points from Gryffindor and Slytherin alike. And on top of his personality, Flitwick was always incredibly knowledgeable- which may seem like a low bar to set but during his time at Hogwarts Harry had his share of professors not know how to blast their way out of a paper bag (most of whom taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, but that’s neither here nor there).

Madam Pomfrey claps her hands together and gives a satisfied nod. “Come with me now,” she says as she strides past Harry, never even slowing down. They cross to the stone floor and move down two doors. The first one they pass has a subtle ‘FF’ carved into and Harry notices that the doorknob is closer to the floor than typical. The second looks just like the door to his own rooms; simple brass fixtures, free from any design, rounded at the top.

She opens the door to a completely empty room. It’s roughly the size of Harry’s sitting room but it lacks any furniture or warmth. The dust that covers every surface reminds him briefly of Grimmauld Place, but all it takes is a few well-aimed Sourgifys from Madam Pomfrey and it already isn’t so bad. “We’ll clean it properly, of course, but this space should do just fine. I’ll contact Healer Sherman to tell her to bring over whatever equipment is required for you.”

Harry’s whole body snaps to attention at the mention of Leila. “She’ll be coming here?”

“Of course. How else did you think you were going to be doing your physiotherapy if not with your physiohealer?”

“Well…” he’s suitably ashamed over the way he treated her, quitting without so much as an owl with an explanation and then shutting off his floo to her. She showed just as much as told him how much she cared from the moment she started working with him at St. Mungo’s. It seems like Ron was right about his self-worth issues, though he did leave out how much of a jerk they make him become. He doesn’t want to be selfish, especially towards the people who are trying to help him. “I sort of figured she’d given up on me by now.”

“She seems like quite the determined woman. I daresay you should be used to those by now.”

* * *

Madam Pomfrey lets Harry go after that, promising to inform him when Healer Sherman was there and ready for him. He’s not sure if he wants it to be sooner or later. He’s not looking forward to the embarrassment of having to see her again but he wants to apologize to her properly. As for the actual physio part of it, he’s also torn. If there’s anything the past few days have shown him it’s that he truly does want to get better. On the other hand, recovery is hard and he’s already quit once.

Harry sits around his rooms for the remainder of the afternoon. He wishes he had a book to read (and then immediately thinks of Hermione somehow hearing him from wherever she is now, like some sort of biblio-superpower). There is an entire library in the school but he isn’t sure if Madam Pince is even around in the summer. So he calls for Kreacher and asks him, who confirms that she is not but that he can help pick out a book for Harry and return it to the exact spot so she’ll never even know.

He laughs at the image of Kreacher walking through the stacks, checking the spines for the titles requested. It’s worth the image even if he’ll never see it happen. “Can you bring me something on sports? I’ve read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ before, so anything but that one.”

Kreacher bows low and snaps out of the room. He’s not gone long, but it’s enough time for Harry’s mind to wander again. He ponders other hobbies he can pursue now, besides just reading about sports. Perhaps he could go into sports broadcasting. He always loved the way Lee did it, but then again Lee was always getting yelled at for his inappropriate calls. There was also drawing. He was pretty good back in the day. He recalls fondly a portrait of Hedwig he drew and painted during one of those awful summers with no magic at the Dursleys’.

Kreacher pops back in carrying a towering stack of books. Harry sits up quickly to divest the elf of his load. “Woah, Kreacher! This is a bit much.”

“Master Harry is wanting to read but cannot go to the library, so Kreacher is bringing the library to Master Harry.” And as though that’s enough explanation, he’s gone again.

Harry is left marveling at the strange little elf and how much he’s changed. He sorts through the books and is pleased to find that they cover a wide variety of sports topics- and not just magical ones. There are books about Quidditch, of course, and other team sports. There are books about parlour games such as Exploding Snap and Poker. There is also a book on the traditional Highland Games. That one piques his interest the most so that’s where he begins. He leans back against the arm of his sofa and dives in.

Hours have passed but he takes no notice. That is, until a soft knocking sounds on his door. Harry checks his watch and sees that he’s been reading for over two hours! He dog ears the page (again, imagining Hermione’s ability to _feel_ the indignant act) before getting up to see who his latest visitor is.

Professor Flitwick gives a big grin and asks, “Are you still available for supper and conversation?”

“Absolutely I am.” As they cross the corridor, Harry takes in the smaller man's clothes. Gone are his usual suit and tie that he wore every day for lessons. In its place is a pair of tan trousers and a buttoned shirt that remains untucked. “Thank you for inviting me. I sort of figured there wouldn’t be too many people around, based on how empty the castle is.”

“When I first started teaching I would travel during the holidays, but time has a way of slowing even the best of us down.” He gestures for him to sit at a small table, which is set for a meal.

As he sits down, Harry realizes for the first time he doesn’t actually know how old his old professor is and it seems rather rude to ask. So, instead, he nods sagely as though he understands. “Any family to visit?”

“I have a sister. Emilia. She, her husband, and their children run a farm.”

“Not to seem ignorant, but are magical farms different from muggle farms?”

“Ah, no fear, Harry. Your only true ignorance would be in not asking. Magical farms grow the same food as muggle farms do. Typically it’s the manner for which the crops are planted, tended to, and harvested that is magical. We grew up learning how to cultivate the land in much the same way as the neighbouring farms did, though our yields were usually better and more consistent. Emilia, however, was always interested in the animals. That’s what she focuses on now: chickens, goats, and sheep. She also breeds crups, though they’re entirely magical.”

Harry listens intently, happy to learn more about Flitwick’s life before he became the Charms professor at Hogwarts. They talk about all sundry of things before two elves appear with their dinner. Kreacher arrives with them and scowls over their shoulders. Harry figures he’s probably just grumpy that they wouldn’t let him help.

The meal is as good as their conversation, but the closer they get to finishing the food the more Harry can tell that Flitwick has something he’s dying to say.

“So,” he says when he sets his fork down for the last time. “What was that proposition you mentioned earlier that you had for me?”

“I’d like to help train you to use your wand better.”

“My wand? I mean, I know it’s been a few years since your class, but I do have a rather good idea of how to cast all sorts of spells, charms, jinxes, counter-jinxes, curses, and so on.”

Flitwick chuckles. “Of that I have no doubt! You were one of my most promising students, probably since James.”

“Will you…” Harry isn’t quite sure how to word what he wants to say. “Will you…tell me about him?”

“Oh, the stories I have about your father would take more than just one meal to tell. How about this? You let me help you, and in return I’ll tell you anything you want to know about what he was like as my student.”

Harry couldn’t stop his face from grinning if he tried. “Yes! I accept!”

“It’s a deal, then! Now, I know you’re getting situated still and you have healers coming in, so you just let me know when you’re ready for our first lesson. Just don’t wait too long. I know where you live and I will come find you if the need be.”

“I won’t forget. I am curious, though. What exactly do you think I still need to learn?”

“Control. They’re all rumors, of course, but I heard that you had your accident because of a rebounding spell. As strong of a caster as you’ve always been I just don’t think that should have happened. I know the Elder Wand can be powerful but I think-”

“Wait. Elder Wand? I don’t use the Elder Wand.”

Flitwick looks shocked. He takes a moment to ponder before asking his next question. “Did it become damaged in the fight against You-Know-Who?”

“No…I…I actually don’t know. I don’t remember anything after our final fight. I woke up in my hospital bed and it was six years later. All I know is that I don’t have it anymore. I have this.” Harry gets out his wand and sets it on the table before them.

Flitwick slowly picks it up, examining it. “I am no wand expert, but I would guess that this is the reason why your spell misfired. You should be using the Elder Wand.”

“But I don’t even know where it is! And besides, even if I did, I wouldn’t want to use it. I don’t want to be the ‘Master of Death’ anymore!”

“Anymore?” Harry claps his mouth shut. He’s said too much. But Flitwick isn’t dim. “Mister Potter,” he says extremely seriously. “Did you once own all three of the fabled Deathly Hallows?”

“I did but it doesn’t matter anyway. Two of them are gone and the only one I ever really cared about is with me and it’s the safest of the three anyway.”

“Ah, so you _do_ have the Cloak. Albus hinted a time or two about it.” He hands Harry back his wand and says, “They’re just things. The legend is just a legend. The Elder Wand holds no curse besides the curse of man; jealousy and greed. I will not force you to do anything, but I suggest you ask your friends what you did with it back then. Go and find it. I will help you focus your magic so that the power is not too great, as I am guessing you fear it will become. There is no doubt in my mind that your current wand was the cause of your accident and it will happen again if you keep using it.”

Harry doesn’t want to become like the first brother, Antioch Peverell. But neither does he want to be like Ignotus Peverell, always running and hiding. He had enough of that during the war. He just wants to live his life. So if Professor Flitwick thinks that learning the use the Elder Wand properly will help him live his life, then that’s a risk he has to take. He swears to himself then and there that if it can be found he will use the Elder Wand, but that in doing so he will only use it for good.

Just as they did that morning upon waking, Harry once again hears Dumbledore’s words: _“You are the true master of death because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die and knows that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO Dumbledore quotes in one chapter! He is a very problematic character for me but he does have quite a few sage words in the seventh book.
> 
> I took a lot of liberties with Flitwick's backstory, but I could easily see his family being the subject of a lot of prejudice because of the goblin blood somewhere in his family tree. That led to me thinking work would be hard to find (at least in a city), so farming just made sense. Also, his quarters should probably be closer to the Ravenclaw Tower? But I see it more like his summer living space. There's no need to go up all those stairs every single day if there's no students around!
> 
> I hope you liked it!! :)


	7. Starting Over Isn't Easy

Harry doesn’t remember ever feeling like this before. His whole body is alight with feeling, sensitive to every touch. He gasps as fingers dig into his thigh. He tries to keep still- to be good- but he can’t help but squirm until the firm touch. Harry cries out and arches his back. Sweat rolls down his skin, the heat nearly consuming him. He can’t help but groan out, though he bites his lip to stop any more sounds from escaping. This beautiful torture truly is a test of Harry’s will.

“All done for today,” Leila says as she tosses a towel his way. “That was a much-needed deep tissue massage so you’re going to be sore.”

Harry takes it gratefully and wipes down his face. “Is it normal for the massage to hurt yet feel good at the same time?”

“Absolutely. Especially with how tight your muscles have gotten.” Harry is ashamed at the words she’s just dancing around; he hasn’t done anything to help his body in months now. And Leila, ever the realist, doesn’t miss a chance to rub it in just a little. “You have to do the stretches I give you, and _actually_ do them this time. You have a literal castle full of people who care about you and want you to get back to yourself, but all the support in the world can’t replace your own desire to get better.”

He thinks about it for a moment. He does want to get better, doesn’t he? He certainly doesn’t like feeling helpless and in pain all the time. He also doesn’t like the pitying looks he gets from Kreacher- Kreacher! Of all people! That’s motivation enough to at least get him out of bed. The rest is up to Harry.

“I do,” he says firmly.

“Good. Now let’s see if you feel the same way tomorrow when your leg muscles are screaming.”

He hopes she’s just being facetious.

* * *

She’s not. The next morning he can hardly roll himself up to a sitting position. Despite what he said and felt the day before, Harry reconsiders sticking to his physio plan. Stupid massage. It felt so good at the time! But, thankfully, the logical part of his brain wins out. He does the stretches he can sitting on the edge of the bed with his leg hanging off the side. Then he slides to the floor to do the rest.

By the time he’s done he’s feeling a little better and has restored his positivity. Harry calls for Kreacher to ask for something to eat as well as a mild pain reliever from Madam Pomfrey. In the meantime he takes a shower, grateful as ever for the almost magical (most likely _actually_ magical, now that he thinks of it) way the Hogwarts showers always have the perfect water pressure and never lose their heat.

It feels good. So good, in fact, that parts of his body that really haven’t gotten much attention lately start to take notice. Harry takes himself in hand gives a few hard strokes. It’s embarrassing how little it takes to get him close. He hardly has time to let his mind roam to something even resembling a sexual fantasy before he’s finishing with a low groan.

He completes his shower and then quickly dries off so he can get dressed and feed his grumbling stomach. Kreacher is patiently waiting for him, though he does look a bit tired.

“Thanks, Kreacher!” Harry is sure to greet him warmly. “You can sit and join me if you would like.”

“Kreacher does not want to join,” he replies, tone nearly disgusted. His longing gaze at the empty chair, however, betrays his words.

“Please? You’re always so busy.”

“Kreacher is not a young elf.”

“You’re young at heart.”

“Kreacher’s heart is just as old as the rest of Kreacher’s body.”

Harry laughs at the literal take of his words. “Of course.”

Kreacher worries his ears in a way that’s eerily reminiscent of Dobby before finally pulling himself up into the chair across from Harry.

“Thank you, Kreacher, truly. You’ve taken such good care of me.” The old elf hides his face but Harry can still see a hint of a smile. “I’m sorry I’m not a better master.”

“You are the Defender of House Elves. You are the best master, besides Master Regulus.”

“That means a lot. But you know you can tell me no, right?”

Kreacher looks as though Harry just suggested he raise Voldemort back from the dead. “Kreacher can not!”

“Yes, you can. I know I run you around a lot because I’m sort of stuck here for now but if you’re tired just tell me.”

“No. It is Kreacher’s job to serve the Defender of House Elves. Kreacher will serve you until Kreacher dies. Then the Defender of House Elves will shrink Kreacher’s head and hang it with the rest of the Black house elves.”

Harry shudders at the very thought but refrains from denying Kreacher his death wish. “If you say so.”

Kreacher nods and stops talking then, so Harry drinks the tea he had been fixing and munches on his toast. They sit there in companionable silence until Kreacher starts to look a little less ragged. Harry asks him to stay just a few minutes more, just enough time for him to write two letters- one to Hermione and one to Healer Katdare, and then asks Kreacher for help mailing them off.

Kreacher takes the two pieces of paper (Harry has decided that parchment is awful) folded and hastily shoved into envelopes and pops out of the room, leaving Harry to wonder how he should spend the rest of the day. ‘Who else was around during the summer?’ he wonders. And then an idea hits him. The Marauder’s Map!

He digs through his trunk until he finds it. A quick glance is all it takes to find Hagrid, who is apparently working outside of his cabin. Hagrid always makes him happy, and Harry wants to continue being happy, so he decides it a brilliant idea to join his half-giant friend for the day.

To no surprise, Hagrid is exactly the good time he was looking for to keep his good times rolling.

* * *

Harry’s floo chimes two weeks later and as testimony to his changed demeaner he opens the connection without a second thought to who it might be or why they might be there. Hermione steps through slightly surprised at the lack of caution from him.

“I could have been anybody,” she warns instead of a greeting.

“Nice to see you too,” Harry replies sardonically without looking up from his place on the floor beside the sofa.

Hermione sighs then fakes enthusiasm with, “Yes, sorry, hello, Harry! Good to see you! I could have been anybody!”

He has to laugh. She’s never once stopped looking out for him ever since he and Ron befriended her on Halloween. “A grand total of three people have this floo address. I think I’m fine.”

She clicks her tongue in obvious disagreement but says nothing further, waiting and watching Harry finish up his stretches. He counts low under his breath and he looks very labored at the simple movements, but she’s glad to see him putting effort into it again.

“10,” he exhales heavily. “Give me a hand?” Hermione helps him up off the floor and he nods his thanks. Then he shakes his limbs out as best he can before flopping onto the sofa. “Give me a leg?”

She finally loosens up, rolling her eyes but smiling nonetheless as she hands him the prosthesis. Then she sits down beside him. “I thought you were starting over with your therapy. Do they already want you back on two feet?”

“Leila thought we might go for a different approach this time around. We’re still building up strength without it first, but she and Healer Katdare think it will be less strange to transition if I get used to having it on. There’s magic imbued in it and it needs time and use to get… situated, if you will, with my own magic.”

“Wow. I’d love to pick Healer Katdare’s ear about-”

“Hermione! I like him. Please don’t scare him away.”

“_Fine_,” she growls out, though it’s apparent that she is in no way ‘fine’ with that request. “So, what did you want to talk about? Your owl was vague. Speaking of, how did you get all the way to the owlery? And how was that? You never did get another to replace- well- you know.”

Thinking about losing Hedwig is the last thing he wants to do. Why couldn’t that be one of the memories that got stolen from him? “Kreacher went for me. It was probably for the best. And I’m sorry about the vague post but I felt it was best not to divulge too much. We need to talk about the Elder Wand.”

That certainly garners her attention. She snaps upright and gives him a very skeptical glare. “Why?”

“Why what? You know I can’t remember anything after the battle! All I know is that now I have this other wand and Professor Flitwick thinks it’s the reason my spell backfired and I’m in the predicament I’m in. He also thinks that since I’m still the master of the Elder Wand that’s really the one I should be using. So, since I have no recollection, I’m asking you what happened to it!”

“No. This is a bad idea.”

Harry gives a mocking gasp and claps a hand over his heart. “Are you, Hermione Jean Granger, really saying that one of our esteemed professors is _wrong_ about something??”

It’s a testament to how seriously she’s taking the issue that she doesn’t react to his teasing. “When it comes to this, I’m sorry but I have to disagree. You never wanted this. That’s why you did what you did. And honestly I think it’s a good thing that you don’t even remember because that means you’re less likely to go and do something stupid.”

“Just tell me! I have a right to know!”  
“No!”

“Fine, I’ll just ask Ron.”

He wonders briefly in Draco gets irritated by the way Hermione grinds her teeth when she’s angry. Perhaps he just does his best to never make her angry in the first place. Perhaps Harry could learn a thing or two about that.

“Alright! But I’m speaking with Professor Flitwick first!”

She’s up and off the sofa in an instant, storming out of the room and apparently knowing which way to go already (though it wouldn’t surprise Harry at all if she did). He wandlessly accios the most recent copy of the Daily Prophet to entertain himself while she’s gone. The articles may still be rubbish but at least the entertainment section lives up to its name, not to mention the puzzles which Harry delights in doing with a ballpoint ben because, as he says, ‘quills are fun and all, but pens are just so much easier’.

It takes Hermione nearly an hour to return. Harry has in the meantime moved to his small table by the window and asked Kreacher to bring them tea and sandwiches, feeling Kreacher’s soul crumble just a bit at the order. She snatches the cup of already-prepared tea away from Harry when he offers and sits grumpily across from him.

“So…” he prompts.

She closes her eyes and takes a breath to collect herself before opening them again. “I understand when he says he _thinks_ this is what’s best for you.”

“But…?” There’s always a ‘but’.

“I’m scared. I don’t believe in curses and I don’t believe in fate, but I know what I’ve seen. Good people make bad choices all the time, especially when given the power to do so.”

“Hermione, I-”

“Let me finish! I don’t think that you’re a bad person, nor do I think you weak. In fact, I’ve seen you withstand more pain and more pressure than people far older and stronger than you, and you came out on top. Every time. But- and now I know you don’t remember so that’s why I’m telling you now- you were very cautious about using the Elder Wand before. You tried to fix up your original wand but once the magical core of wand has been snapped it’s hard to ever get it right again. Sorry again, for that.”

Harry shrugs. “Wasn’t your fault.”

She nods and continues, “So, you used the Elder Wand despite the fact you didn’t want to. Honestly, I think I saw you do more wandless magic than I ever saw you use it but regardless you used it. Then you reluctantly joined the aurors and you were hesitant to take it with you on missions.”

“Reluctantly? I didn’t even want to be an auror?”

“You did but you didn’t. You wanted to help people but you didn’t want to keep risking your life. Charlie came closest to talking you out of it- I mean, there’s a million ways you can help people- but in the end it was your decision to make. Your compromise was that the Elder Wand had to go back where it belonged, at least, according to you.”

“So where is it now? With the Peverells? I can go back to the graveyard at Godric’s Hollow.”

“No, it’s actually much closer.”

“Hermione, stop playing games. Where is it?”

“It’s with Dumbledore.”

* * *

Another week later and Harry still hasn’t gotten up the nerve to go out to Dumbledore’s grave. It rests on the back of the Hogwarts property, between the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. He wonders if past-Harry used to visit. He must have at least once, to return the Elder Wand. Was it as unnerving to him then as it is now?

The tomb itself is large, rectangular, and made of smooth, white stone. From further away it looks like some sort of marble but as Harry gets closer he can tell it’s more likely the same white quartz used in various places around Hogwarts. The tomb appears to be sealed tightly yet there’s a thrumming energy that grows stronger as he approaches.

Harry reaches a hand towards the flat stone on top and his mind is bombarded with images, memories. Memories that never belonged to him.

Harry’s mental connection to Voldemort ran deeper than anyone could have guessed. Not even Ron and Hermione knew how bad it had gotten (Harry stopped telling them out of fear that they would become too frightened and leave him). But now, standing above Dumbledore’s grave, not even being able to see his old headmaster’s body yet, Harry remembers seeing this before. Through Voldemort’s eyes.

_The stone cracks beneath his pale, skeletal hands, a jagged split like a lightning bolt. Halves fall away, one to each side. He leans down over one of his greatest foes, lip curling in disgust at the f fallen headmaster. If he was so great, then why was he the one dead in the tomb? Voldemort chuckles, the sound rasping out of his throat in thick waves. Yes, here lies Dumbledore; pompous, arrogant, useless, dead. Here lies the so-called rebellion. He thought he was worthy of the Elder Wand, but he’s nothing. Voldemort reaches out and plucks the wand from his hand as easy as plucking a blade of grass from the ground._

Harry doesn’t know how the tomb opened but it has. He tries to block out the images as he reaches to take the Elder Wand, but it’s just too similar. His hand is shaking, and his arm feels weaker than his leg after a session with Leila. Harry’s not sure when he started crying but he feels the first few tears slip down his cheek and he knows he can’t do this. He takes off for the Forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! I don't think i've done this to you guys yet, but the next chapter will pick up right where this one left off. Hopefully you don't have to wait too long!


	8. A Little Truth Never Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this new chapter finds you well! I know it's a really uncertain time right now with the COVID-19 pandemic. The numbers are so staggering and it scares me that this could happen to me or you or someone we know and love. So I hope wherever you are, you're safe and healthy and I pray that it stays that way.
> 
> This chapter opens with another flashback/memory (in italics).

_Harry stretches languidly on the bed, enjoying the warmth surrounding him. And it’s not just blankets and pillows; a strong set of arms encircle him as well. That strikes him odd. He doesn’t get this physically close to other people (unless you count curling up next to Ron and Hermione for warmth when they were on the run- but Harry doesn’t; that was for survival)._

_The arms tighten around him and a deep voice rumbles into his back, “You always wake up too early.”_

_Harry goes motionless. It can’t be. He knows that voice._

_“Alright, mate?” Charlie asks._

_“Umm,” he cringes at his own response. “Yea?”_

_Thankfully, Charlie must be used to Harry because he simply laughs. “You may be awake but you’re never quite all the way there until you get some breakfast in you. In which case, I’m going to go fry something up. Unless you want to repeat your performance from last night?”_

_Harry rolls over to face him then and is shocked to finally have the man right where he wants him. Although…is he really surprised? He feels like he’s been here before, just like the dream he had in the alley about the night of his accident. If that was a memory then this could be too._

_Charlie notes his lack of response and is quick to tell him, “Breakfast it is then.” He kisses Harry on the forehead before unwrapping his arms and leaving the toasty confines of the blankets._

_Charlie’s not wearing a stitch of clothing and, upon closer inspection, neither is Harry. He admires Charlie’s form even as he covers it with a pair of sleep bottoms. Charlie gives him a wink over his shoulder before leaving the bedroom to presumably fry up that breakfast he promised._

_Harry lies in bed for a few minutes. He can’t keep the smile off his face as he recalls what they got up to the night before. He used to think that having a physical connection with another human being just wasn’t possible for him. He would watch Dean and Seamus drape themselves across each other so easily and wonder what was wrong with him that he didn’t want that for himself. Having an emotional connection with people had gotten easier over the years but the physical part was just tougher. He has so much baggage from his past, but Charlie has worked through that with him and now here they are._

_Harry reluctantly pulls himself out of bed as well. A quick glance around the room and he finds his own clothes. Then he’s padding out of the bedroom in search of a toilet._

_Charlie’s just about finished by the time Harry joins him in the kitchen. He fixes himself a cuppa and sits down just as Charlie sets a full plate in front of him and gives him another kiss on the forehead. “More awake now?”_

_Harry stops him by the arm and pulls him down for a proper kiss. “Yes,” he says as he pulls away with a smile. “Although I don’t mind being tired if it’s you that wears me out.”_

_He sits down across from him in the only other chair at the small table. “Well there’s always time for more of that later. I’ve got the whole day off.”_

_“Speaking of work…”_

_“No,” Charlie shuts him down. “You promised. That was supposed to be the last time.”_

_“But Charlie…” He looks up at him through his dark eyelashes, “When I’m given an assignment, I can’t say no.”_

_“Can’t or won’t?”_

_“That’s not fair.”_

_“Oh, and is it fair that every time you’re away I get to sit here all by myself and worry? That I have to wonder if this is the time you never come back? That this is the time you leave me forever? Is that fair?”_

_Harry blushes. There’s no way he means that much to Charlie, yet here he is looking a wreck at the mere mention of Harry leaving on assignment again. He reaches across the table and takes one of Charlie’s strong, freckled hands in his own. “Look, I know things have been tough but you’ve gotten loads better. You don’t need me anymore.”_

_“You’re the only reason things are better!”_

_“You don’t mean that.”_

_“I do!”_

_“Charlie, you have a great family, work that you love, you’re proper fit…” that last one earns a snort from Charlie, so at least Harry knows he’s listening. “You don’t need me to be strong. You’ve been strong this whole time and you can keep being strong even while I’m gone.”_

_“I don’t feel strong.” It will always break Harry’s heart to see a man so big be brought down to such a low place because of his addiction. “Some days it’s still hard to avoid the pubs.”_

_He slides his chair over so that he can be closer to Charlie. He rubs his free hand across his back soothingly. “I know, but each day you’re getting better. You can do this. With or without me.”_

_“I’d rather it be with you.”_

_“I know. I’d rather be here too, but people need me.”_

_“Yes, people do.”_

_The double meaning is not lost on Harry. He gives Charlie another kiss, feeling the sadness coming off him in waves melt away just a little bit. “Now let’s eat this amazing breakfast you made before it gets cold.”_

* * *

Harry rubs at his head as he comes to on the floor of the Forbidden Forest. He’s looking up at what would be the sky if it weren’t for the thick cover of trees. He always knew he was a little uncoordinated (growing up he blamed it on the out-of-date glasses), but tripping on a tree root and hitting his head hard enough to lose consciousness while running through the forest truly is the epitome of clumsy. Granted, now he can blame it on his still-new prosthetic. What was he thinking taking off on a run with his crutches? How’d he even make it this far?

Something digs into his back, forcing Harry to sit up. He reaches behind himself and grabs whatever it is, clenching it in his fist and cocking his arm back to throw it into the underbrush. But something stops him. He can’t say for certain what, perhaps a warmth or a certain familiarity. No matter the reason he stops, he uncurls his first to look at the offending pebble and stops short when he finds it to be no ordinary stone.

“It can’t be,” Harry whispers.

Yet there’s no denying its identity. No other stone is this shape, this cut, this color. He only held it once and for such a brief time but he knows instantly this is none other than the Resurrection Stone. Of all the places to stumble into. Harry looks around closer now and does recognize the clearing from where he last spoke to his parents and godfathers.

He checks over his limbs (real and otherwise) and slowly tries to push himself to standing, though he never truly makes it there. He sinks back down to the ground, assessing his pain level. If Leila were to ask, he’d be the sad crying face that models levels 9-10 on her pain chart. There’s no way he can make it back to the castle on his own. He draws his wand and casts his patronus. He would swear the silver stag looks down on him piteously.

“Oh, sod off,” Harry grumbles. “I know what I look like. Just go get Hagrid and bring him here, please.”

The stag bows before leaping off, leaving nothing behind but a quickly fading wisp of a trail.

Left alone again, Harry’s attention is brought back to what made him run in the first place. He knows it was irrational, but he couldn’t separate himself from Voldemort in the moment. Is he as bad as him for taking the Elder Wand? Will Dumbledore be upset that his wand is being stolen once again? Is he disgracing the lives of those who died by it? Harry can’t help but feel like the answer to all those questions was yes.

“You’re thinking too hard, Mister Potter.”

Harry screams at the sudden appearance of his former teacher. “S-s-s-snape!?” he stammers. “B-but you’re…”

“Dead? Quite.”

“But then how-”

“You are not as dim as pretend to be, Mister Potter. I’m sure you can puzzle this one out without Miss Granger whispering the answer into your ear.”

Harry looks down at his hand still holding onto the Resurrection Stone. He had been turning the stone over in his palm without realizing it and his thoughts about Voldemort’s victims must have triggered Snape to appear. He never would have purposely summoned him but now that he’s here he feels a little silly sitting in silence across from him.

“Oh, um, alright. How are you?”

“Dead.”

“Right. And how is that?”

“Potter.” Snape gives a look so reproachful it brings Harry right back to being in first year Potions class. “You’re the one who summoned me. Please tell me it was for an actual reason and not just to ask me how the afterlife is.”

“Er, well, I suppose you could help me.” Harry isn’t so sure he believes his own words but it’s worth a shot. He doesn’t know what to do on his own, and Snape knew Dumbledore quite well, so maybe this will work. “Could I handle using the Elder Wand?”

Snape’s features immediately cloud over. “Did you kill Draco?”

“No!” Harry hastily answers, waving his arms and frantically shaking his head. “Draco is alive and well! Apparently we’re friends.”

“Apparently?”

“I sort of had an accident and lost some memories- all trivial in the grand scheme I promise you- but when I woke up he was there and apparently we get on now.”

“I see.” His features soften back to their standard neutral. “He was always fond of you as a child, though his father tried to break him of the fascination.”

“What? He hated me!”

“On the contrary. As Draco’s godfather, he confided in me about many things and he wanted nothing more than to be your friend.” At Harry’s further disbelief he lets out what could almost be considered a laugh and swears to the truth of it. “His social skills were a bit lacking but that genuinely was his way of trying to make friends with you. At least at first. Then he felt snubbed and decided if he couldn’t be your friend than he would be your rival. You know the rest.”

“Wild.” There is so much more that Harry wants to know but he doesn’t want to waste Snape’s time on more stories about Draco (especially when Harry can just tease Draco about it later or ask Hermione what she knows about it). “But back to the Elder Wand… could I handle using it?”

“I don’t see why not. If you are its true master it would make sense that you do, and you’ve always had a strong magical ability.”

“You always acted like I was berk when it came to magic.”

“When it came to _potions_,” Snape corrects him. “All of us saw your raw magical potential. You were training advanced spells with Lupin in your third year- mastering them, even- and you continued your training into your fourth year, performing far beyond expectations in the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

“But I had help.”

“This is a school, is it not?”

“Oh.” It never occurred to Harry that all the years he spent here at Hogwarts, the things he learned outside of the classroom were just as important as what he was learning in them. He learned to fly a broom and how to lead a rebellion and how to summon objects from far distances. He learned how to stand up for himself and his friends and what was right. He learned to love and fight and forgive. “How come I never learned potions, then?”

“You were not the worst student I ever had.”

“I didn’t score high enough to make it into your NEWTs level course.”

“Barely. Exceeds Expectations is not bad, Potter.”

“I did better when I used your book the next year.”

Snape is sincerely caught off guard. He knew that Harry had stumbled across something of his when he attacked Draco in the toilets with the sectumsempra spell he invented, but he never found out for sure how. “My old student copy?”

“Yeah. You kept good notes. Why did you never write a text of your own? It would have been better than the ones we had to buy each year.”

“I was nobody, given a job by a crazy old man who thought he could save me. No one would have published anything I wrote.”

Harry shrugs. “Now they would.”

“Dead, remember?”

“Oh yeah, that. Really puts a damper on things, yea?”

Snape does laugh then, clear and bright. “You’re so much like Lily, despite how much I accused you of being like your father in school. You have her sense of humor.”

Harry’s insides twist a bit at the mention of his parents. Should he be talking to them about this instead of Snape? He hates Snape, right? If you asked him at twelve his answer would have come easily. But so much has happened and has been revealed since then. Is Snape innocent? No. Did he make a lot of mistakes in his life? Absolutely. But is he entirely evil? Even Sirius said that there is no such thing as entirely good or entirely evil. Maybe Snape knows better than anyone what it’s like to be stuck in a bad situation and just trying to make the best choice at the time.

So Harry asks him again, only this time with one subtle chance, “_Should_ I use the Elder Wand?”

“I think that is a stupid question. What do you really want to ask me?”

“Am I bad person for using the Elder Wand?” The question slips out easily enough but Harry can’t make eye contact with his ghostly professor.

“A wand is just a wand. One’s choices tend to make more of an impact upon their character than anything else. Next question.”

“Do you think Dumbledore wants me to have it?”

“I have never once pretended to know what went through that man’s head and I encourage you to not waste your life trying either. Next question.”

“All the people that were killed by it… I’d be carrying that around with me forever.”  
“Ah, well that’s not really a question, now is it?” Snape challenges. “I can’t speak for the others, but I know you didn’t kill me, Mister Potter. I am under no delusion that it wasn’t the Dark Lord who gave the order for that bloody snake to attack. It was he who raised that wand and took those lives, not you. Perhaps the real question is, ‘Am I ready to let go of the guilt I’m holding onto?’”

Harry can think of many words to describe Snape over the years, but ‘wise’ is certainly a new one. It’s as though he’s looking into Harry and can see what he has been harboring within him all this time. He thinks back on six years’ where Snape could have been helping him like this. Why was he always so awful and mean to the children he was entrusted with?

He doesn’t realize he’s asked that question aloud until he sees Snape’s expression twist uncomfortably. “I apologize, Mister Potter. I know it doesn’t count for much now, but I let my past experiences get in the way being an impartial teacher. I was bitter and held on to so much anger that it ate me up inside. I took it out on whomever was most vulnerable at the time, and that was often my students. It’s one of my biggest regrets, and that’s saying something considering how many regrets I’ve had in my life. Let that be my final lesson to you now: Don’t be like me. Don’t give power to the negative thoughts in your mind- whether they be angry or sad or what have you. If you act on that negativity, it will only make your life worse.”

“‘Arry! ‘Arry where are ye?!” Hagrid shouts from the distance, garnering Harry’s attention momentarily.

He turns back to say, “Thank you, Professor,” but it dies on his tongue.

Snape is already gone.

Hagrid finds him then, sitting on the floor of the forest and looking banged up. “Oh, ‘Arry you’re alright! I was worried sick about ye!” He starts sobbing, shaking even as he carefully lifts Harry up and checks him over.

Harry chuckles despite the circumstances. “I’m fine, Hagrid! I swear it! I just took a tumble and need help getting back.”

“What were ye even doin’ all the way out here?”

“That’s kind of a long story but I promise you I won’t try it again.”

“Yer bloody right you won’t!” He lifts Harry into his arms and immediately starts off towards the castle.

However, Harry stops him at the edge of the forest. “We have one stop to make first, if you don’t mind.”

Hagrid looks uncertain and he walks them down to where Dumbledore is entombed. The moment he sees the stone pushed away from the top, he holds Harry a little bit tighter. “I’m not puttin’ ye down,” he warns him.

“That’s fine. Just get me as close as you can.” With Hagrid’s help, Harry leans down and removes the Elder Wand from where it rests at Dumbledore’s side. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, finding it easier to block out Voldemort’s memories this time. “And I forgive you.” He uses the wand to replace the heavy stone and seals it with a spell he didn’t even know he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I surprised myself this chapter because I am not a Snape sympathizer. That being said, I don't think Snape is looking forgiveness here. He knows he was wrong and he apologizes, but he also knows that he got exactly what he deserved for his actions. The same goes for Dumbledore. He doesn't deserve Harry's forgiveness, but Harry is awesome and gives it anyway.
> 
> Also, if you haven't picked up what's happening with Harry's memories... he's been getting them back one at a time in the form on his dreams. His current self is definitely living them and experiencing them for the first time, but he can't change what is happening around him (they really are his memories). He also won't ever get like "the full story". He has to piece it together himself.


	9. Two Steps Forward, One Embarrassingly Long Slide Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay well, stay safe, and enjoy :)

Shell Cottage is just as beautiful as Harry remembers it being, and what a glorious thing it is to remember. He’s sad as he visits Dobby’s grave, yet he smiles when recalling all of the trouble the little elf used to bring him. This leads to imagining if he was still around today. He’d probably still be trying to ‘save Harry Potter.’ Maybe he could have stopped this from happening. Harry absentmindedly rubs at his legs in response to that thought, but it doesn’t linger long in his mind. He sits down right there in the sand and leans back on his hands, closing his eyes and letting the calm wash over him. The gentle waves hit the beach with a soft _swoosh_ sound one after the other after the other. He was right to make this Dobby’s eternal resting place. It’s peaceful.

“Oi! That you, Harry?”

He sits up to see Bill walking up the dune towards him. Harry will always think of the oldest Weasley as he was when he first met him, with long hair and a fang earring that drove Molly crazy. But it would seem that fatherhood has changed his appearance ever so slightly. His hair is still a little long on top but the sides are cut short, much like how Ron wears his. Actually, now that Harry gives him a closer look, Bill and Ron bear a striking resemblance to each other- though Ron is much more heavily freckled. In addition to the hair, his ear has just a simple gold ring in it. He’s still Bill, but a more serious Bill.

“Hiya, Bill!” he says with a wave and a genuine smile.

“Alright?”

“I’m good. Just visiting with Dobby.”

“The girls love it up here.” He gestures to the stone that Harry carved himself. “You used to bring them and tell stories about him. Victoire knows them all by heart, I think, but she’d be fine with hearing them again.”

Leave it to Bill to subtly let him know that his memory loss is not a big deal. Harry had confided in him that he was concerned at how his children would accept him now, but Bill promised that they miss their ‘Uncle Harry’ too much to care. He was feeling confident when he left Hogwarts but now he’s uneasy. Which, of course, Bill picks up on. He offers Harry a hand to help him stand in hopes that he can get him to the house before he changes his mind.

“But I don’t know them.” Despite his words he picks up his crutches and follows after Bill. “I’ve never really been around kids. What if they don’t like me anymore?”

“They know what happened to you, so worst case all you have to do is tell them that you don’t remember.” He stops to look down at Harry earnestly. “Just be yourself. They love you. We all do.”

Harry sighs, “Okay, I believe you.”

And whether or not he’s ready the door is ripped open and two small girls come bounding out. “Harry! Harry!” the taller blonde one shouts as she wraps her long arms around his waist.

She’s the spitting image of Fleur, whom Harry now sees standing just inside. Her hand is covering her mouth but her mirth is still written obviously all over her face. He must look a sight.

“Hawwy!” The younger girl shouts. She also tries to wrap herself around him but she’s considerably smaller so she mostly smooshes herself against his knees. It only takes a quick glance to see that she is all Weasley.

He may still be a little uncertain but who can be sad with so much cheer being aimed your way? Harry laughs and pats their heads. “Hullo there,” he tries, hoping it doesn’t come off too stilted.

The girls must not care because they disengage from his body only to grab one of his arms each and try to pull him into the house. He staggers a bit which causes Fleur to swoop in and stop them. She warns them to be careful of his leg and so they let go of him, but they never leave his side as they lead him over to the living room. Dominique climbs up on his lap as soon as he sits down, curling up to his chest.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Bill whispers to him as he and Fleur join them.

* * *

Harry enjoys the afternoon immensely. There are times when he isn’t sure what to say or do, but maybe he was always this insecure around children and the girls are simply used to it- either that, or Victoire and Dominique really don’t care how he acts- because they give no indication that anything is amiss. In fact, they shower him with such affection that Harry’s chest almost aches from it. Is this why people have kids?

Bill chuckles and slaps Harry’s shoulder, jostling him in a way that no memory loss could make him forget (it’s a signature Weasley move that Harry secretly loves even if it still catches him off guard at times). Apparently he said that out loud.

“We ‘ave children to share our love wizh ze world.” Fleur tells him as she picks up Dominique from where she’s fallen asleep on Harry. “It’s a blessing to get zhat love back, even a little.”

Harry leaves Shell Cottage with a tin of biscuits that Molly sent over just for him and a stack of drawings from the girls that he plans to use to decorate his rooms. Even though he didn’t move around much- besides a quick tour courtesy of Victoire, who was worried he didn’t remember what their house looked like- he’s exhausted. A quick stop into his physio room to work on his stretches, followed by a much needed shower, and Harry’s face down asleep on his bed.

* * *

“What are these monstrosities?”

Draco has made a habit of stopping by to visit on his days off. Sometimes he gets into deep intellectual discussions with Professor Flitwick while Harry is practicing his wand skills. Other times he simply drapes himself across the sofa as he fills Harry’s ears with all sundry of stories; about an interesting case at work, about something funny Hermione said or did, about Pansy’s latest conquest (whether Harry wants to hear about it or not).

Today, Harry walks in from an appointment with Healer Katdare to find Draco poking through his things. “Can I help you?” Harry sighs.

“What are these monstrosities?” Draco asks again.

“Bill and Fleur’s girls made them for me. Want to help me hang them up?”

“I’ve nothing better to do. Spellotape?” Harry points to the side table. Draco opens the drawer and instantly complains about how it’s full of junk. “You’ve only been here for a month! How could you have possibly accumulated this much garbage?”

“Just get the tape!”

Draco does, but he makes sure to grumble about it for pretty much the entire time they tack up the drawings. It’s actually the sudden silence in the room that alerts Harry to something being amiss. “What? You’re suddenly at a loss for words?” he teases as he affixes the paper to the wall. He smiles at the messily scrawled crayon. This is one of Dominique’s works of art. “Are there any more, Draco?” He still gets no reply. “Draco?”

Harry finally turns around to find him completely enthralled in reading something. It’s obviously not something either of the girls made, and it looks like a letter. He walks nearer trying to get a better look at the parchment. “What is that?”

Draco snatches it away just as he close. “Wait your turn!”

“Wait my turn for _what_? Draco! Let me see!”

“No! It’s not yours anyway!”

“It’s in my rooms so it’s mine!” Every time Harry reaches for it, Draco pulls it away. He truly has no choice but what he does next.

“You don’t own everything, Pott- AHH!!”

Harry dives at Draco and tackles him. They both go tumbling over the back of the sofa, bouncing off the cushions and landing on the floor. Their bodies make a loud thud and for a moment all is still. Then Harry tries to breathe in and gets nothing but a raspy wheeze. Draco- who landed on top of him- jumps up as quickly as he can.

He starts examining him immediately, checking over his leg first. It appears to be okay, though the prosthesis has come unsealed causing it to sit at an odd angle. He removes it altogether before continuing. Palpating his other limbs show no obvious broken bones. Harry is still wheezing and Draco can tell he’s starting to panic.

“It’s alright, Potter,” he tries to assure him. “You had the wind knocked out of you. Just relax. It’s like getting knocked off your broom during Quidditch. You and I have both had our fair share of falls so we know what that’s like, right? That’s it. You’re doing fine. There we go. Feeling a bit better?”

Harry should be freaking out right now but there’s something about Draco’s voice and the way he talks. He must do well as a healer, with bedside manner like that. He’s so calm and reassuring, Harry can’t help but lay there and trust him. Soon enough, he gets air back into his lungs. He takes as deep of breaths as he can and with each one he can feel his chest expanding more and more until he’s feeling a lot more normal.

“Thanks, Draco,” he says gratefully.

“Don’t thank me. I’m likely the one who knocked the wind out of you in the first place.”

“After I tackled you.”

“Lucky shot.”

Draco helps him up from the floor and forces him to go to bed where he can rest for the remainder of the day. He fights against the other man, pulling the knitted blanket up to his chin.

“But I feel fine now!” Harry argues, and it’s mostly true. His ego is bruised more than anything else.

“Too bad. I’ll see to it that Kreacher brings you some soup for supper. Just relax. Read a book or something, if that’s even a skill you possess.”

“Ha. Ha. I can read.”

Draco smiles at their banter. He was really enjoying their arguing earlier (before Harry dropped him to the floor). It felt like the old days, minus the heat of real anger behind their words. “Okay, well, I better leave you to it but you, um, well…”

All the stuttering is not something Harry is used to hearing come from Draco. “Did you hit your head in the fall?”

“What? No. Just, um, do you mind _not_ telling Hermione about this? I think she’d kill me if she found out I let something happen to you.”

Harry grumpily crossed his arms across his chest, well aware that he must seem like a petulant child which makes moot his following complaint, “She is aware that I am an adult, right?”

Draco gives him a sympathetic shrug. “She’s always worried about you the most, even before your accident.”  
“But she doesn’t-”

“-need to,” Draco finishes for him. “I know. But that’s why we love her.”

Harry may continue to grumble, but he knows that Draco is right.

Draco leaves once Kreacher appears with a hearty stew for supper, forgetting all about the paper that started the ruckus. Harry forgets too.

* * *

Harry doesn’t listen to his body when wakes up with a small twinge in his lower back. He figures he must have just slept wrong. There’s no way it has anything to do with what happened the day before. The sun is shining in through his windows, so he decides to get out in the fresh air and go for a walk. He knows a run is out of the question but at least he’ll be moving.

He pulls on his jogging shorts and slides on his expensive new trainers that are especially made to fit his prosthetic leg. Harry bends down to get a shirt from the lowest shelf in his wardrobe and hears his back make a loud pop. But bodies make noises all the time, so he doesn’t stress too much until he goes to stand up again. He lets out a yelp before he pinches his lips together to stop the noise.

No. No, no, no this cannot be happening. He’s been working too hard and putting in too much time to be slowed down by a stupid pulled muscle or bruise or whatever in his back. He fumbles with his wand and desperately calls out, “Accio, salve!”

The small, glass container given to him by Madam Pomfrey smacks into his hand. Harry opens it as quick as he can and dives his fingers into the firm, smelly goo. It feels cold as he slathers it all over his lower back, but it soon gets hot- almost uncomfortably so. The sofa has never seemed so far away as he staggers over to it, still hunched over. He drops down onto it with even less grace than he normally shows and whines at the pain. Harry settles in, figuring he’ll be stuck like this for a while, staring at the swirly pattern in the cushion fabric until it blurs.

* * *

Leila is understandably upset when she hears about the ill-fated tumble he took with Draco. She lectures him about being responsible and the importance of taking it easy. “Healing takes time,” she says repeatedly as they go through his stretches and exercises. “And you can’t afford for the healing process to be interrupted by something so irresponsible! Now you’ll have to wait until we can get rid of the back pain until we can move forward with your leg.”

But Harry’s sick of waiting! He’s been waiting his whole life; waiting to be rescued from the Dursleys, waiting to start school, waiting to see who will try to kill him each year, waiting to read what lies will be written about him in the newspaper, waiting to have someone to love.

He puts all of his frustrations into doing exactly the opposite of waiting. He focuses even more of his time on getting his legs stronger. If he’s not working with Professor Flitwick on strengthening his magic, then he can be found in the physio room where there’s plenty of equipment to keep him busy.

And that’s exactly where Leila finds him a week later when she comes for his next appointment, only this time he’s crying on the floor in the fetal position. She sits on the floor and holds his head in her lap, stroking his hair back from his face and offering small words of kindness and reassurance.

“I know, Harry. This is really hard for you, not being able to control everything. But you’re strong. You can get through this. You just have to listen to your body. And right now your body is telling you to slow down. Sometimes the hardest thing is not doing anything. Do you think you can be kind to yourself and let yourself heal?”

“I-I want to,” Harry says shakily, sniffing and wiping at his face with his sleeve. “But h-how?”

“I’m going to spell this door closed, for starters.”  
Harry wants to protest, but he doesn’t have it in him. “Okay.”

“I’m also going to call a massage therapist and a chiropractor to help you work on your back. If I can’t find anyone magical then I’ll come and help you get to their offices.”

He rolls over so that he’s facing Leila and asks, “Why are you so good to me?”

“You’re my patient.”  
“But surely you have others. You can’t possibly have enough time for them with how much you’re here with me.”

“Don’t you go worrying about my schedule. I make sure I don’t take on more cases than I can handle. Now, come on. Let’s get you back to your room so you can wash up and then rest. You’ve had quite enough excitement for the day.”

She helps him back across to his rooms, but Harry stops her short of moving him to his bed. He doesn’t want to be put to bed like a child for the second time is as many weeks. Leila concedes to settling him down on the sofa. He lies on his side where is hurts the least and lets her prop him up with pillows and blankets in a way that won’t make his back even worse. With one last warning to not sleep like that overnight, she leaves him.

Harry groans. What a day! One of his arms flops to the floor but it doesn’t hit the rug or even the hard floor. It bumps against something that crinkles. Harry has to wiggle his fingers around under the sofa to get a good hold of it, but when he does he instantly knows it’s a piece of parchment. In fact, now that he thinks of it, it’s likely the same piece of parchment he attacked Draco over.

He brings it up to his face so that he can read it.

> Bill,
> 
> I’m sorry for missing Vic’s birthday. Tell her that I loved her latest picture of my dragons. She really is getting good. I’ll pay for painting lessons if she wants them. Will that make up for me not being there? I’m a terrible godfather.

Charlie,

You’re not a terrible godfather and you don’t have to bribe her with gifts. Of course she would love painting lessons but she’s already attending a weekly dance class so maybe we’ll take you up on the offer later. Do you think you may be able to come here soon? Harry is out of the hospital now.

> Bill,
> 
> We just came back from a rescue and it’s a round-the-clock watch until we’re sure that she’s not too injured to take care of herself. I probably won’t get time for a visit for a while. I know Mum will be disappointed in me but she can get in line.

Charlie,

Are you just going to ignore what’s going on with Harry? I know that Ron and Dad have written you. He’s going through all of this alone when he could be with you.

> Bill,
> 
> He made it abundantly clear where his priorities lie. Let him feel what it’s like to be on the other side of things.

Charlie,

You’ve never been vindictive before, little brother. Don’t start now.

> Bill,
> 
> I’m done talking about it.

He lets the parchment fall back down to the floor. Whatever happened between him and Charlie sounds like it was bad. And worse, it was Harry’s fault. So, what now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Thanks to everyone who is commenting and chatting about the story- especially last chapter! I wasn't sure how the Snape scene would go over so I really appreciated the feedback.


	10. Happy 21st, 19th, and 24th Birthdays!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me say that I'm sorry that my country is a complete dumpster fire. It has become so difficult to find any inspiration to write my story because of the awfulness of reality. Please stay safe out there!!
> 
> That being said, I hope you do enjoy this chapter if you're still reading. It may have taken a little longer to get out to you, but it's an important one (especially since I left you on such a sad note last time).
> 
> This chapter opens with a flashback (in italics).

_Harry practically jumps out of bed with excitement, gearing up for a quick jog around the city. It’s still early but Harry can already feel the heat of the day creeping up over the tops of buildings. July in London is either rainy or sweltering and it seems like today is going to be the latter._

_His feet take a path that he is unfamiliar with, though he clearly knows the way. At first Harry would fight against this feeling but he’s grown used to it now, having visited so many memories in his dreams already. He just lets his body lead him where he needs to go._

_The rhythmic pounding of his shoes on the pavement is all that fills his mind and it’s a nice break from the constant stream of chaos that’s usually rattling around in there. He really wishes he could run again, but it’s as if past-Harry kicks the thought of his head and it’s back to blank again._

_Back at Grimmauld Place, sweaty but satisfied, he accepts an icy glass of water from Kreacher. “Happy Birthday, Master of House Elves,” says the old, wrinkly elf._

_Harry ducks his head, cheeks darkening at not only the title but also the reminder of the day._

_Harry used to wake up on July 31st with no fanfare, no cake, no presents, and no hope. His friends have worked hard to teach him that the day is worth celebrating- that he’s important enough- but it’s been a long road towards accepting that as truth. This year, however, may be what convinces him._

_Because this year he has a special birthday dinner date._

_Charlie didn’t go back to Romania after the war, instead choosing to stay behind with his family to help everyone mourn and try to heal and rebuild. He’s been staying at the Burrow for a few years now. And though time passes and others move on- Bill and Fleur back to Shell Cottage to start their own family, Ginny to Hogwarts and then the Harpies, Percy and George to Weasley’s Wheezes, Ron to the muggle world- Charlie is still there. He’s been a constant in Harry’s life since everything calmed down, and after dancing around each other all this time they’re finally taking the next step in their relationship._

_Most days, Harry isn’t sure why Charlie wants to be with a punky kid. Then Charlie reminds him that the age difference isn’t such a big deal now, and that at 20 he’s hardly a kid anymore. So he convinces Harry to have dinner with him, just the two of them, no parents, no siblings, no takeaway, no sports on the wireless… they’re going to do this right. But Harry doesn’t want to go out to a restaurant. He’s mobbed every time he steps foot in an establishment and the press would go absolutely mental for information about his love life (if it can even be called that). So he does the next best thing and offers to cook._

_Harry doesn’t cook for many people. He doesn’t really like to show off his culinary skills because he’s embarrassed about how he obtained them. He’s a grown man who doesn’t know how to ride a bicycle or drive a car, but he can roast an aromatic chicken like a professional chef because he was forced to as a child._

_While on the run the year of the war, Hermione noticed that he had a knack for being able to turn simple tins and whatever small animal they trapped into a delicious meal. Yet at the time she never said anything outside of complementing his cooking. She shared later that she had a feeling she knew how he’d learned and if her assumptions were correct then she figured he didn’t want it commented upon. Even now, he cooks if it’s just him and Hermione but refuses if Draco or anyone else joins them._

_Charlie, like he is for many things to Harry, is the exception to the rule._

_Harry has to beg and barter and nearly cry to get Kreacher to leave the kitchen for the evening. He finally gets him to go to the Burrow and cook dinner for Molly and Arthur instead, an extravagant five course meal- the result of the compromise in getting him out in the first place- leaving Harry blissfully alone in the kitchen. He readies his ingredients, lights the cooker, and gets to work._

_There’s salmon steaming with ginger and blood oranges in the oven and a chocolate cake setting to cool (he’ll ice it once he’s sure the frosting won’t just melt down the sides). Harry is just finishing up the cucumber salad when he hears the old grandfather clock chime half six. He has thirty minutes to get ready for his date. He’d really like a bottle or two of the pale ale that Ron gave him, but he doesn’t want to tempt Charlie with having alcohol around. It’s been hard enough on him as is._

_Charlie didn’t want to admit at first that he had a problem. He had a reason (i.e. excuse) for everything and everyone seemed to be buying it- except Harry. Harry is well-versed in keeping secrets and could see right through everyone of the lies. Charlie fought him, calling him nasty names and digging at old wounds and even threatening to tell the Weasleys that it was Harry with the drinking problem._

_It took an accident to wake him up: Charlie was the only one home at the Burrow when Fleur’s patronus came with a message saying that she needed help with baby Victoire immediately! Without thinking about how much alcohol he’d already consumed, Charlie apparated immediately. But there’s a reason why intoxicated apparition is warned against. He landed at Shell Cottage, but not entirely whole. Fleur shoved him in the floo and sent him to St. Mungo’s emergency ward, where it was determined that both of his shoulders were dislocated in the accident. It could have been worse, they said, but Charlie wasn’t sure how it could get any worse than not being able to help you sister-in-law when they called for help (thankfully, the issue with Victoire was superficial as he wasn’t sure he could live with himself if she had suffered as well)._

_Harry stayed at his side during his hospital stay and his subsequent rehabilitation- both of his shoulders and his alcoholism. It was a long, tough road but it brought them to where they are now._

_The floo chimes just as Harry is tucking his buttoned shirt into his trousers. He runs his hands through his hair, immediately regrets running his hands through his hair, tries fruitlessly to tame it down, and then gives up altogether. He walks down into the kitchen at the same time as Charlie enters from the other side of the house. The two gravitate toward each other as though pulled by magic. Harry is uncertain of what to do but Charlie is sure enough for the both of them as he leans down to kiss him._

_“Happy Birthday, Harry.”_

* * *

“Happy Birthday, Harry!”

They’ve just finished their latest round of physio and Leila is holding out a single vanilla cupcake, swirled high with frosting and topped with rainbow confetti sprinkles. Her kindness is nothing new to Harry, but he’s still taken aback. Could it already be the 31st? Sure, the days have sort of blended together lately but he didn’t realize it was this late in the summer. After his swift slide backwards into what he now knows is depression, Harry has been kept so busy that he really hasn’t bothered to keep track of the days.

“Thank you,” he utters sincerely, reaching out to take the sweet treat. As he does, a sliver of a memory comes to mind: he and Neville are sharing a cake for their nearly-shared birthdays. He blinks and it’s gone.

A part of Harry still wonders what it would have been like had his parents not died and Neville’s not been driven mad by Bellatrix. They probably would have gotten together every July to celebrate the two boys. Maybe they would have gone to the beach to escape the heat. Or perhaps just to Fortescue’s for some ice cream. In fact, Harry and Neville would most likely have spent a great deal of time together- playdates when they were little, sleepovers as they got older, holiday trips abroad with both families, preparing for Hogwarts... In this alternate universe they would have been like brothers to each other.

“That must be some wish,” Leila teases with a friendly elbow nudge. “I’d say don’t tell me or it won’t come true, but there’s no candle to blow out so I’m not sure that holds anyway.”

“No, even a candle couldn’t help bring back the childhood I was robbed of.” Harry doesn’t mean to sound so melodramatic, but he can’t help the way he feels.

It’s with deep regret that he wasn’t closer to Neville in school. Harry knows better than anyone that you can’t go back and change your past; you can only work with the hand you were dealt. So he decides right then and there to reach out to Neville. He wants to wish him a happy belated birthday, but he also wants to start their friendship anew. They both deserve it.

To lighten the mood he says, “My real wish is to keep getting better, happier, and be surrounded by all the people I love.”

Leila pats him on the arm with a secret smile. Unbeknownst to Harry, she has already put into motion a plan that might help his wish come true after all. No candle required.

* * *

Harry doesn’t notice it at first because he’s not meant to.

Kreacher wakes him up every morning, always with a steaming plate of food. It’s not that Kreacher has gone soft on Harry, but rather he’s there to make sure he eats his breakfast.

Then Harry has either magical training lessons with Professor Flitwick or some sort of therapy (as promised, Leila sets him up with a chiropractor and a message therapist to round out his treatments), except for Thursdays when he meets with his mind healer (another new addition to his care since his breakdown).

McGonagall has taken to stopping by for tea- which usually devolves into an intense discussion of various current events and school topics.

Even in the afternoon he rarely finds himself alone. There seems to always be someone there. And maybe it wouldn’t seem so suspicious if so many of them weren’t walking on eggshells around him.

Bill and Fleur bring the girls by often- always with toys or games since the contents of Harry’s rooms weren’t exactly designed with children in mind- and they talk about all sundry of topics, but he notices that they always steer clear of any difficult ones. He blames it on the girls’ presence.

Luna visits, dragging Ginny along on one of the rare days where practice is cancelled. They play exploding snap and gobstones like they’re back in the Gryffindor common room, reminiscing about the good times they used to have. Harry remembers a lot of stressful times during their school days, but they seem hesitant to bring those up. He figures it makes sense to not dwell on their sad times.

Hagrid sneaks his dog into the castle even though McGonagall told him he wasn’t allowed to. The Saint Bernard- inexplicably named Benson- could never replace Fang, but he’s loveable and calm and always brings a smile to Harry’s face. He loves curling up on the hearth rug with Benson, listening to Hagrid tell stories about his latest animal adventure. Harry wonders what ever happened to Norberta once she had her hatchling, but Hagrid never talks about dragons. Harry assumes that Hagrid just doesn’t know what came of her and doesn’t want to upset him by asking.

Ron has to stay at the fire station for several days in a row but then he gets several days off, and he always makes sure to spend at least one of them with Harry. They play a lot of chess and eat a lot of sweets, just like back in their dorms. Never one for words, Harry doesn’t find it odd when his best friend doesn’t say much besides updating him on his life with Nina.

Even Hermione has made a few visits, swamped though she is with research for her latest thesis. Harry asks her about what she’s read recently and that’s all it takes for her to get on a roll. She does eventually stop to ask Harry how he’s doing. Her mothering is nothing new so it raises no red flags.

Harry doesn’t notice all of the soft attention, the careful way they’re treating him, but then all of sudden he does notice.

And it’s all due to Draco.

Draco is the most obvious. His fight is gone. There’s no more playful teasing; he’s stopped making eye contact most of the time- and even when he does his eyes look vacant and strange; he won’t argue, even when he’s obviously right; he’s stopped calling him ‘Potter’ and exclusively calls him ‘Harry’ now, which may be the strangest of all. And when finally Harry’s had enough and demands to know why his behavior has changed so drastically Draco yells back, “Because it’s my fault!”

Okay, now Harry’s even more confused. “_What_ exactly is your fault?”

“Everything! If I hadn’t kept that stupid parchment from you, you never would have needed to tackle me, and you never would have hurt your back!”

Of all the things he expected to hear, this wasn’t it. “Draco, that’s not your fault.”

“I took it too far, knowing that you would fight back. You were only on your prosthetic for a few months! You hurt your back, ruining all the hard work you’ve accomplished in your recovery, and you’re lucky I didn’t leave you unable to use that leg at all!” Draco buries his face in his hand and sobs, “_Now_ do you understand?”

“I think…” Harry slowly reaches out a hand to Draco’s shoulder, hoping to garner his attention. “I think I needed that to happen.”

“How can you possibly think that?!” Draco snaps, eyes glaring for the first time in ages.

Harry’s thankful to see a little bit of the old fire back, even if it’s sad instead of snarky. “Well, I was pushing myself too hard. I wanted to be better right away and I wasn’t listening to my body. What happened with you was an accident. I fool around like that with my friends all the time- at least I used to- and it could have easily been you with the sore back… or worse.”

“But it wasn’t me. It was _you_.”

“Yes, and for me it was also a wakeup call. One I desperately needed. When Leila found me on the floor, I was ready to give up. I figured, stick me in a chair and wheel me to a home for aging and disabled wizards. What’s the use of pretending life is worth living when I’m just a broken shell of my former self? Who would want to love half a man?”

“Don’t say that!” Draco’s gaze is fierce now. “You can do this! If I can get through all the shit I’ve experienced, then so can you.”

He grins now. That’s the Draco Malfoy he knows. “That’s what Healer Graves is helping me work on.” Harry tells him all about the mind healer and how much it’s helped to sort through everything that’s happened to him. “I don’t know if past-Harry ever got professional help, but he should have. I think he was having even worse trouble than me.”

“How do you mean?” Draco is extremely curious. Harry often talks of his past-self, voicing his ponderings aloud and discussing him as though he was a different person entirely. And maybe he was. He was friends with Harry before his accident but they were never this close. “Are you remembering more?”

His face screws up as he tries to find the words. “I get…dreams. They’re memories, I’m fairly certain, but they’re not like watching in a pensieve. I’m acting out the memory like I’m on autopilot. It’s like I know what to do but I don’t know why I’m doing it.”

“And is it helping? Remembering this way?”

“Every bit helps, I suppose, but mostly it’s infuriating to get these little pieces of information and now know the whole story. Sometimes I just want to take past-me by the shoulders and shake him.”

“What did you- I mean _he_\- do that’s so frustrating?”

“He was terribly stubborn.”

Draco scoffs before he can stop himself. He quickly schools his features and says, “You don’t say?”

“Go on, laugh it up.” He folds his arms across his chest indignantly but it only furthers Draco’s point of him being stubborn. He drops his arms with a sigh. “Alright, I’m still stubborn. But I know I would have fought harder than he did. I wouldn’t have just let someone slip away because they were an inconvenience.”

“We’re all here for you, Potter.”

“Oh, I know! I don’t get a moment of peace! What’s the deal with that, anyway? Did Leila get all of you to keep me so busy that I won’t realize how sad I am? And therefore I won’t push myself into further depression?”

Got it in one.

Draco rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, looking terribly guilty. “When you put it that way it sounds bad…”

“I’m not upset,” Harry insists with a shrug. “I guess I deserve it after what I did to myself before. I’m just glad some people are willing to fight for me.”

“_Some_ people? Trust me, it took no convincing from anyone. We had to stop Molly from coming over here every single day when she found out! And Longbottom? He was livid when you wrote him and we had to fill him in on everything that had happened to you. People care so much about you. They’re willing to fight for you.”

“Not everyone.” Harry’s voice is small and he can’t help it. He’s loved his visitors and they truly have brightened his days and made his life better. But with every person who came, it only became clearer that there was one person who was never going to show up at his door.

“Who?” Draco asks quietly, matching Harry’s tone.

“Charlie.”

It all becomes clear to Draco now what that parchment of correspondence was all about. The day Harry tackled him he had found quick notes written back and forth between the eldest two Weasleys. He isn’t sure of the details, but it’s obvious that Charlie and Harry had some sort of relationship before. And now Harry wants that again, and he’s upset that the desire is not returned.

Draco watches as a tear slips down Harry’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Potter. Men are pricks.”

Harry huffs a laugh, despite sniffing against the threat of more tears.

* * *

After clearing so much air, Harry is glad to have Sunday all to himself. He has a lot to think about. But his rooms are feeling claustrophobic and he just needs to get out for a bit. He hasn’t left besides to go to appointments since his backslide, but he feels confident now that he’s made enough strides. He can do this. He packs a few things into his knapsack, checks his prosthesis, picks up his crutches since he feels like going for a long walk (and doesn’t want a repeat of his tumble in the Forbidden Forest), and heads for the main castle doors. He isn’t sure where the day will take him, but things looks brighter than they have in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the chapter title still makes no sense, there are three birthdays mentioned in the chapter (the one is super brief, including Neville) and those are Harry's age at each one! It was as creative as I could manage. ;-P


	11. Being Vulnerable is Hard, but not Harder than Living with Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I know the world is burning and flooding and all that fun apocalyptic stuff, but it's been a different kind of crazy over here. I have not physically been able to write/type for the last two months. I had a simple surgery on my arm (it took all of 10-15 minutes and like 5 stitches) but I am apparently part of the small percentage of people who can carry infections and not know it! So two days after my surgery my arm swelled up from my fingers to my elbow. I will save you the gruesome details but basically they had to open me up for a while to clean it all out and then I underwent a SECOND surgery to close it all back up again. I've been slowly healing and recuperating and now I'm back!
> 
> I really do hope you all are well because, jokes aside, the world does seem to be falling apart. Hopefully you can escape reality for a few minutes and enjoy some good old fan fiction.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me! Enjoy :)

“Very good, Mister Potter! Let’s see if you can unlock it even quicker this time.”

Harry pulls his shirt up to wipe off his forehead. His hair, though not long enough to tie back, is held off his face by a bandana given to him recently by Luna (who designed the fabric to show off the Hogwarts crest, which is currently sitting just above Harry’s scar). It turns out that practicing charms is exhausting work- at least, it is when your professor isn’t holding back.

The heavy wooden door shuts in front of him and he can hear the lock click into place. Flitwick isn’t divulging the exact locking spell he’s using but Harry can only guess that it’s not a simple one. “Alohomora!” he tries.

The door doesn’t so much as wiggle, though he isn’t surprised. First years learn that spell.

“Dunamis!”

He thinks he hears something move but a quick jiggle of the handle proves it didn’t work.

Harry closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. He can feel a bead of sweat trickling its way down the middle of his back, the wrap on his stump itches where it fits into his prothesis, and a fly keeps buzzing annoyingly around his head. But he pushes all of that out of his mind, instead focusing on the gentle thrum of his magic.

Professor Flitwick told him that not everyone is so in-tune with their magical core; that’s part of what makes him different, special. It’s a hard to pill for him to swallow. Harry hated being known as _The Chosen One_ and he still doesn’t like the idea that he’s anything other than normal. He knows that Healer Graves would say it’s due to his time with the Dursleys. But regardless of the reason, embracing his uniqueness is what he needs to do right now if he wants to unlock this door.

He loosens his grip on his wand, going from clutching it tightly to letting it rest gently between his fingers and palm (a new technique he’s been practicing). Then Harry breathes out slowly. He listens for the hum that’s always been there, even when he didn’t know what it meant. It resonates in his chest and he lets it fill the space. The feeling should be uncomfortable but for Harry it’s the exact opposite. It reminds him that he’s capable of so much more.

Like blowing this door to pieces.

Unlike in his memory of that fateful day in the alley, his magic isn’t swirling around him in uncontrolled waves anymore. He focuses on its path from his chest, up and over his shoulders, down his arms, and into his hands. Harry knows if he opens his eyes he won’t really see it but behind his eyelids he can imagine. To him, it’s a glittering golden wave moving through him like blood through his veins. It warms his hand and it’s as though his wand is warmed by it as well.

Harry feels like yelling, but that’s another technique he’s been trying to improve on. If his magic- being channeled and amplified through his wand- is being used properly then he shouldn’t need an intense rush of emotions to fuel his power. “Portaberto,” he says confidently, letting his magic flow down to his wand and out into the world.

He opens his eyes just in time to see the door explode. He throws up a wordless shield charm to protect himself and can only hope that Flitwick had a chance to do the same.

As the dust and debris start to settle, he looks up to find his professor grinning at him. The smaller man steps forward and pulls something from the pile of splinters on the floor. He turns to and hands it to Harry, who looks at the warped metal that used to be the door’s lock and asks, “Was that faster?”

Flitwick huffs, rubbing a hand over his face as though he still can’t believe what he just witnessed. “Mister Potter, I stopped timing when the door exploded.”

Neither man can keep from laughing.

* * *

After cleaning up the mess (and reluctantly telling Filch about the need for a new door to the physio room) Harry leaves the castle. He’s been spending his free afternoons on the grounds.

Sometimes he visits the greenhouses, checking on a few of the more finicky plants for Professor Sprout so that she doesn’t have to make as many trips out to the school during her hols. Sometimes he visits Hagrid, helping him with small tasks here and there when he’s able. Sometimes he visits the war memorial, where he forces himself to look at the names of the people that died to save the world. The list was a shock at first, due to his lost memories, but now he has it memorized and is determined to never let them be forgotten again. Most times, however, Harry can more often than not be found in the Forbidden Forest.

Once feared for it being off limits, there’s a comfort to the peace that he can find there in the woods. He is sure to steer clear of the acromantula nest and the portion of the forest under the domain of the centaurs. Other than that, Harry thinks there isn’t a corner of it that wouldn’t be welcoming- and that includes the clearing where he was killed by Voldemort. He figured it would be triggering to stand there again, but if he were completely honest the entire experience had been almost like a dream and therefore doesn’t hold as many negative feelings as he was expecting. There’s a cathartic sort of freedom to it, like spitting in Moldy Voldy’s face.

The place in the forest he likes the most is where the thestrals stay. The ground is wet and sandy where it dips down into several natural pools of water, yet there’s enough trees to drop leaves for bedding down in. It makes sense that the winged horses have made this part of the forest their home. It’s calm and cool and Harry enjoys it there. And he especially enjoys _napping_ there, considering he’s shaded from the heat of the afternoon- and the spring foals are more than happy to be curled up against them while they nap as well.

* * *

_"Teddy! Wait for me!”_

_Harry has to jog to catch up to the giggling boy, who is moving at a rather impressive rate of speed despite his little legs. He finally catches up to him just as they approach the entrance to the Reserve. He grabs Teddy and swings him up into the air before settling him on his hip._

_“Chawie! Chawie!” Teddy chants. “Chawie show us dwagons!”_

_“That’s right, little wolf. And do you remember what I told you about the dragons?”_

_“They’we scawy and can huwt me!” he answers right away, though he doesn’t sound scared in the least._

_Harry laughs at the sort of bravery that only those who don’t truly understand the consequences of being around dragons can have. He is only four years old, after all. “Exactly. So you have to stay real close to me and Charlie and listen to everything we tell you. Your mum would never forgive us if we let something happen to you.”_

_“Did mum wike dwagons?”_

_Teddy has been asking him a lot of questions lately about Remus and Tonks. Andi is okay with Harry answering them, so long as he keeps it appropriate for his age._

_“She absolutely loved them! Not as much as Charlie, mind you, but she came her to see them as soon as she was able to get away from work.”_

_Harry tries not to think about the hoops he had to jump through to get away from his own work today. He tried to reason with Robards; after all, there’s always going to be another dark wizard to chase so what’s the difference if he takes a day off? But being the golden child of the aurors definitely has its downsides. He’ll be working every day for the foreseeable future to make up for this impromptu trip. Yet, as he looks into the smiling face of his godson it all seems worth it._

_They meet Charlie down at the paddock where the young dragons are kept. This is the perfect place for Teddy’s first interaction with the dangerous creatures. Their favorite redhead is already there and waiting, looking fit in his snug denim jeans._

_Teddy wiggles loose from Harry’s arms and launches himself at Charlie. Thankfully, he’s ready and catches him with open arms. They share a big hug before Charlie scolds him about running off. “You have to stick with me or Harry, no matter what. If you run off again then we’ll have to take you right back home to your gran; no more visits to the dragons.”_

_His eyes are comically wide as he nods his understanding. This is a big deal to the little boy and losing the privilege so soon would be devastating._

_Harry can think of no other word than ‘magical’ to describe the dragons. Growing up, he never even dreamed that these creatures could be real- let alone that he’d be able interact with them. Yet here he is, standing in the center of a ring of waist-high dragons. They are jumping and nipping at him playfully as he tosses treats up in the air for them to catch. Harry is mesmerized by the way their scales shimmer as they move._

_Teddy is enjoying the even littler dragons. A clutch of Welsh Greens eggs were recovered from an illegal breeder and finally hatched a few weeks ago. The dragons are just tame enough to be handled by the boy (with assistance, of course). Charlie helps him hold a bottle out to one of them. The simulated dragon’s milk has a strange odor but the babies don’t seem to mind. Teddy giggles as they messily suckle, gurgling all the while._

_The main event is a demonstration by a few of the other dragon handlers. A male Chinese Fireball has made the reserve his home for longer than Charlie has worked there. As the story goes, he was found injured and in need of a safe place to recover. Once fully healed, they planned to release him back into the wild of his native habitat, but the Fireball had other ideas. He fought off everyone who tried to help him no matter how sneaky they were in their strategy. So, after many failed attempts, they decided to let him stay (that was clearly his intention anyhow). They also decided to try to train him since he seemed much smarter than the average dragon._

_That brings them to now. Harry is sitting on a fence so that he can be up a little higher, while Charlie stands in front of him with Teddy up on his shoulders for an even better view. The handlers shoot up into the air on their brooms before calling to the Fireball with whistles. The dragon unfurls its impressive wings, shakes them out, and takes for the sky. The handlers move in a choreographed pattern around the dragon, causing it to bob and weave after them. Then it does a loop-de-loop, hits targets with its tail, and even bounces a large ball off of its snout. The whole demonstration is entertaining and impressive and seems to be going off without a hitch. That is, until another dragon comes flying in fast._

_It appears to be a young Norwegian Ridgeback and it does not like what it sees. It dives towards the Chinese Fireball, who does not appreciate that move in the least. It roars and shoots flames at the incoming threat. That’s all it takes for the Ridgeback to realize that it has made a grave miscalculation, and it flies away as fast as it came in. The Fireball, however, does not stop there. It starts attacking the dragon handlers with its tail and namesake flames._

_Charlie takes Teddy down from his shoulders and sets him on the ground. He tells Harry that he’s going to help his co-workers and friends._

_“Accio broomstick!” Harry shouts, hand outstretched in wait._

_“What do you think you’re doing?” Charlie yells above the roar of the dragon. “You can’t go flying out there!”_

_“I outflew a Horntail at fourteen! I can do this!”_

_A broom whistles on its way towards them but Charlie intercepts it before it can get to Harry. “That doesn’t matter!” he growls. “You’re not trained for this and we are!”_

_“And look how well that’s going!”_

_Charlie does look, but it’s not his fellow handlers that catch his eye; it’s the toddling form of Teddy, giggling off towards the chaos. The boy may be unaware of the imminent danger but Charlie knows better. He points him out to Harry before taking off across the paddock._

_“Teddy! Come back here!” he tries in vain to the get him to listen._

_The dragon notices them now and turns to dive straight down. Charlie is just about there when Harry rushes past him on the broom. He catches Teddy around the waist just in time for the Fireball to live up to its name. An enormous plume of flames hits them. Harry curls his body around Teddy to protect him, taking the brunt of it. He ditches the broom altogether once he’s clear of the dragon and hits the ground in a roll. A quick glance down tells him that Teddy is relatively unscathed, but the moment he takes to do that reveals a larger issue- Harry’s back is burning._

_He lets go of Teddy in favor of attempting to put out the fire. By the time Charlie reaches him, he’s already passed out._

_Harry comes to in a hospital bed in St. Mungo’s. He’s face-down, disoriented, and in pain but his first thought is not for himself. “Where’s Teddy?” he groans out to anyone there to hear him._

_“With his Gran.”_

_It’s Charlie and he sounds exhausted._

_“And he’s okay?”_

_Charlie shrugs. “Bodily, yes. He’s scared for you, though.”_

_“You told him I was going to make it, didn’t you? I just got burned, right?”_

_“You’ll live, if that’s what you’re asking.”_

_It could almost be a joke, the way he says it, but there’s no humor in Charlie’s voice. Harry slowly rolls over. His back hurts immensely as he does so but he has to see his face for this conversation. His eyes are red and puffy, as though he’s been crying. And since he already said that Harry was going to be fine… “Charlie, what aren’t you telling me?”_

_“Andromeda banned us from ever seeing him again!”_

_The truth echoes off the walls around them._

_It takes Harry a bit to respond, “Like, forever?”_

_“Yes, forever! I promised Tonks that I would help look after him and now this! How could I have been so stupid?”_

_“Come on, Charlie, how could you have known that the dragon would-”_

_“Not that! How could I have been stupid enough to let you convince me to have him there at all? I know better than that.”_

_Harry starts to get angry. “It’s not like you fought me on it! You were excited when I brought up the idea!”_

_“Because it was you, Harry! I would have done anything you said!”_

_“How is that my fault?”_

_“It’s not,” Charlie replies quietly. “It’s mine.”_

_“What can I do to fix this?”_

_“Fix this? There’s no fixing this. It’s final. Andi said so.”_

_He stands up and makes for the door but Harry calls after him, “Are you going to be okay going home alone tonight?”_

_“What’s it any concern of yours?” Charlie snaps in return. “I’m sure work will keep you busy. Don’t worry yourself over me.” And with that he walks out, leaving him there._

* * *

Harry wakes up with tears still in his eyes. He pulls his knees up to his chest and attempts to curl into a ball. The more he learns about his past the more he wishes the memories would just stay gone. He can live with the changes in his friends, living at Hogwarts, and even the missing leg. He isn’t so sure that he can live with the truth of what happened between him and Charlie.

The thestrals have long since left him, a clue as to just how long his nap was. He slowly sits up and stretches out. Wallowing in self pity is not good for the spine. All at once Harry wants to hide out in the castle, but also go to Romania to confront Charlie, as well as beg Andromeda’s forgiveness (a woman that his past-self clearly knew well but his present-self has only met once), and run away from everything and everyone.

Harry uses the long walk back to ponder his next few moves, and by the time he’s back in his rooms he knows what he has to do. He takes out paper and a pen and prepares to eat crow.

* * *

> Dear <strike>Andromeda</strike> Missus Tonks,
> 
> I know I don’t deserve your time but I beg of you to see this letter through to the end.
> 
> I have recently had a terrible accident at work that stripped me of the last six years of my life. I have little knowledge of what transpired during that time, as singular memories are returned to me here or there and I am able to puzzle them into some sort of order. What I have remembered, however, I wish I could forget all over again.
> 
> I so deeply regret the danger I put Teddy in when I decided to take him to the see the dragons. I was thinking selfishly, wanting to give him the sort of childhood I could never have even dreamed of. But it was shortsighted of me and your choice to take him away from me was the right one. I put him in harms way and there is no excuse for that.
> 
> Though I am disappointed at not getting to know Teddy again, I will not ask you to go back on your prior judgement on account of my feelings. What I am imploring you to do is to reconsider letting Charlie see him. It is not his fault that I brought Teddy with me that day, and it is not his fault that I let Teddy get hurt. I know how much it hurt him to lose his godfather rights.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Harry Potter.

There’s another letter that he has to write, however, and Harry has no idea where to start on this one.

He alternates between tapping his pen on the table and chewing on the cap. Ron said that he’d written to him. If Charlie wanted to respond he would have by now. How does one even begin a letter to someone who used to be- well, Harry isn’t exactly sure what they used to be because he lost his stupid memories and is only now getting bits and pieces back- but he knows they were something and yet they haven’t spoken in who knows how long? He can’t just say, “Hullo, Charlie!” after all these years, can he?

Harry looks down at the blank piece of paper in front of him. Maybe it could be that easy. He scratches down the words at the top left before he can stop himself.

> Hullo, Charlie.
> 
> I hope you are well.
> 
> I’m not exactly sure how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other. I’m not sure of a lot of things these days. All I know is that I miss you. And I’m sorry for how I hurt you.
> 
> Also, I wrote Andromeda and told her everything was my fault and to let you back into Teddy’s life. I’m extra sorry about the part I played in that situation. You made a promise to Tonks and I destroyed your chance to see that through. You don’t deserve that.
> 
> You don’t have to give me another chance, or accept my apologies, or even respond to me (though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you to). I just had to let you know.
> 
> All the best,
> 
> Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) In editing this for posting, I forgot how much I loved Flitwick. I love him, and it shows.  
2) I am weak for Harry's raw magical strength.  
3) I had two slightly different versions of the dragon memory; one with Teddy and one without. I really waffled back and forth about including him in this fic, but in the end I used this version because even though it's sadder in the moment it has a bigger pay off in upcoming chapters- and who doesn't love adorable little Teddy???


	12. You Never Can Tell What the Future Holds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been nearly three months since I updated last (oops! I warned you guys this was a true WIP!) and I just hope that everyone out there is staying safe.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this new installment!

Even without looking at the calendar, Harry knows that the summer is quickly coming to a close. Staff members return to the castle one after the other; the elves busy themselves cleaning and polishing every surface in sight; and a hectic sort of feeling fills the air. Harry has some experience with a similar situation each year that he stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas, but the start of a new fall term is clearly a much grander affair. He keeps waiting for someone to tell him to pack his bags and leave, so he is unsurprised when he gets a summons to the Headmistress’s office nearing the end of August.

Harry has mostly mastered the art of walking without his crutches while wearing his prosthesis, but he airs on the side of caution and takes the aides with him on his venture up the moving staircases. Much to his delight (and Hermione’s accuracy), however, the staircases are slow moving and accommodating in his ascent. There’s no vanishing steps or misleading paths today! Harry thinks- not for the first time- that Hogwarts truly is alive with the magic of its creators and he thanks the memory of Rowena Ravenclaw for considering the needs of those who walk her halls (as opposed to Salazar Slytherin, who chose to hide a horrifying monster within the depths of a terrifying hidden chamber).

Regardless of the stairs playing nice, Harry is still glad he took his crutches with him because all of the steps have him out of breath by the time he gets to McGonagall’s door. It stings to realize that this is his life now; he’ll always have to work just a little bit harder to do what came naturally before. That’s not to say that his progress has stopped. In fact, Leila has been hinting at stopping his physio altogether; at least, her portion of it. He’ll have to continue on his own, but what else is new these days?

Unlike when Dumbledore was there, the gargoyle does not sit at the base of the revolving spiral staircase. There is no longer a password needed to gain access. All one must do to see the headmistress is knock (and climb yet another twenty steps, but really who’s counting at that point). Harry pats the gargoyle on the head, chuckling to himself as he swears its carved face morphs into a mix of confusion and disgust, before rapping his knuckles on the imposing door.

“Come in, Mr. Potter!” he hears her familiar voice call out to him.

It may be a different office, but she’s the same McGonagall. Harry feels fifteen again as he walks in, as unsure of his future now as he was then. She’s sitting at the large desk set in the center of the room. Harry tries to glean something from the look she’s giving him, but it’s decidedly neutral.

“Hullo,” he greets with a small wave of his hand, more uncertain by the minute.

“Come, sit,” she motions to one of the grand chairs facing opposite her desk. “I’m afraid I must apologize.”

Harry’s heart sinks. This is it. She’s going to tell him to leave. He can’t meet her eyes when he says, “No need, Professor. I understand.”

“You always were a bright boy,” she says fondly. “I appreciate your understanding.”

His chest tightens just a little bit more. All the platitudes in the world aren’t going to make this easy. He just shrugs a shoulder.

She either doesn’t see or- much more likely- she chooses not to comment on his dismissive response. “So, tell me…how are you getting about the castle?”

He can do small talk, but he wonders why she’s prolonging the inevitable. “Fine, it would seem. Slow, but fine.”

“And your wand work with Filius?”

Oh. He gets it. She wants to make sure he can live on his own before throwing him out. “Better. Explosions notwithstanding.”

She laughs then, bright and crisp. Harry risks a glance at her and immediately feels his own mouth pull up at the corners. Even though he knows what’s coming, he can’t hold it against her.

“Yes, I got an earful from Argus about that one,” McGonagall says, her smile still wide on her face. “Filius, on the other hand, will likely tell that story until the end of his time here.”

Harry nods his head and forces himself to be glad simply for the time he was able to spend here, both as a student and these past months.

“Now,” she says a little more sedately, “have you given any thought as to what you would like to do next?”

Harry’s eyes are burning, focusing on the floor in an effort to keep the tears at bay. “Um, well, the aurors is certainly out of the question now, unless I want to do paperwork all day which, quite frankly, sounds bloody awful.”

“Ah, yes. I understand. It’s just as well, if you ask me. I’m not sure the aurors suited you.”

Great. Even she knows he’s useless. Harry nods again, still looking at the floor. “I suppose I’ll go back to Grimmauld Place.”

“Is that what you want?” She gives him time, but when he doesn’t answer she repeats herself with more force. “Mister Potter, is that what you want? To go back to what I’ve been told is quite the grubby hole, all by yourself?”

He does look at her then, with eyes shining and wide and trying to keep his lip from trembling.

“Well?” she asks, the challenge in her voice unmistakable.

He wants to shout, _“No! Of course I don’t want to go back there!” _but he’s afraid that once he opens his mouth, she’ll see him for the coward he is. What sort of grown man needs his schoolteachers to take care of him?

She folds her arms in front of her and leans towards him as far as she can with the desk between them. “Because, if that were the case, then there’s nothing I could do to stop you. However, if you’ve finally come to your senses and realized that there’s something better for you here… then all you need to do is ask.”

The tears roll hot down his cheeks. He almost thinks he’s heard her wrong. “I- I…”

“Yes?” and there’s an undeniable smirk on her face now. She knows what he wants but she’s making him take ownership of the decision.

“I want to stay here!” he finally blurts out. He hiccoughs once before barreling on, “I know I’m not qualified to teach or anything of that sort, and I’m not the man I used to be, but I want to stay here and at least be somewhat useful again!”

Never let it be said that Minerva McGonagall can’t get what she wants. She’s careful not to gloat, however. She knows how fragile Harry is- how fragile he’s always been, really. She trusted Albus at the time, that leaving baby Harry with his muggle family was the right thing to do, but she will always carry that with her as her greatest failure. Letting his family break him down and then letting Hogwarts raise him up only to be put in front of Voldemort to die…she couldn’t do that to him again. His home is here.

“You can stay at Hogwarts for as long as you like, Mister Potter.”

He sobs openly now, though all the tension is gone from his shoulders. These are tears of happiness and relief. He doesn’t think about if for more than a few seconds before he’s out of his chair and around the desk, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he thinks she can stand.

She chuckles, patting his back and letting him murmur “thank you thank you” against her hair for a minute or so and then she gently moves him back towards his own chair.

Harry’s a little bashful about his outburst, but more than anything he’s just glad he gets to stay. He wipes his face but then he’s able to look McGonagall directly in the eye when he says, “I want to contribute, not just live here. What would you have me do?”

“Filius has come to me and expressed desire to have you on as an assistant of sorts.”

“I can’t do that. I’ve never taught anyone before.”

She purses her lips and levels him a glare that has Harry wanting to look away again. “Do you really think the entire staff was unaware of… oh, what was it… Dumbledore’s Army?” she asks rhetorically. “I know for a fact that you taught several students charms far above their intended age. _Successfully_, I may add. And besides, we’ve hired staff with less teaching experience before.”

“Yeah, because Lockhart worked out real well,” Harry scoffs.

Her eyes roll into her head as she sighs, “That man was a buffoon. Are you saying you’re also a buffoon?”

“No! I-”

“Good. Classes start in one week.”

“I-”

McGonagall stands then, cutting him off with a quick flick of her hand. “Go on, now. They’re serving dinner in the Great Hall in preparation for the Start-of-Term Feast. Then meet with Filius; he’ll be expecting you.”

Harry nods, stands as well, and makes his way out of her office. He feels like he’s floating. He fully expected to be sent packing but now he’s free to stay. He’d feel tricked into the situation if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted. Perhaps Professor McGonagall should have been head of Slytherin. Had she always been this cunning?

Just as he gets to the door he turns around and asks, “Did you turn yourself into a cat on purpose when Ron and I were late to your first lesson?”

A wink is the only answer he gets.

* * *

True to the Headmistress’s word, Professor Flitwick is expecting Harry after the conclusion of their dinner. He gives him more information than Harry can process in one sitting, but- like the sort of student he only was when Hermione forced him to be- he promises to look over all the materials that evening and jot down any and all questions he has (and Harry has quite a few questions).

Flitwick is ecstatic to have his help for the upcoming term, and Harry rides that feeling of purpose and belonging all the way to his rooms. It isn’t until the door closes behind him with a resolute finality that he starts to panic. What if McGonagall, in all her seemingly infinite wisdom, is wrong about him? What if he fails? The stack of reading materials he was given seems to grow as he looks at it and the walls start to close in around him. Harry drops everything and practically runs back out the door, grabbing his mokeskin pouch on the way.

He tries to justify his sneaking around the castle. He’s not a student anymore, he doesn’t have a curfew, and the term hasn’t even started yet. That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he walks as quietly as possibly through the corridors he knows by heart. He spent many extra hours practicing in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with various professors and now he’s headed there in hopes to talk with one of them again.

The door makes a loud creaking sound when it opens (because show him a door in Hogwarts that doesn’t) and he slips in, shutting it as quickly as he can behind him. The room is dark. Darker than he was anticipating. Harry wishes he knew Hermione’s spell to make those balls of light she was always so good at. He makes a mental note to ask Flitwick to teach him how. He can, however, cast lumos maxima and set his wand on an open desk in the front of the room.

Harry is surprised not by the changes to the space but rather the familiarities. In some respects, it’s as though no time has passed. Sure, the desks are arranged differently, but that was the case every year they received a different Defense professor. The stone floor retains the same chips and marks, stains so deep that even Filch and the elves couldn’t spell it clean; the words above the doorway are as foreign as they were when he was eleven and saw them for the first time (Latin was never Harry’s strong suit); even the curved staircase leading up the professor’s office is exactly as it was when he ascended it with Lockhart to sign autographs, with Lupin to hear stories about his parents after dementor lessons, with Moody to be given secrets about the tournament, and with Umbridge to write lines in his own blood.

It’s all still here.

And that’s exactly why Harry chose this place. He reaches into his pouch and pulls out the Resurrection Stone. The last time was an accident, but this time he knows exactly what he’s doing. He turns it over in his hand and thinks of the only man who can help him now.

“Harry, my boy.”

The voice is deep and soothing and everything Harry was hoping for. He looks up to see Remus smiling warmly and Harry has a hard time staying put. He wants so desperately to throw his arms around the man even though he knows this isn’t truly him (not in the corporeal sense, anyway).

So, instead, Harry pushes his toes towards the floor to keep himself still before giving an echoing grin. “Remus! I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you. Tell me, did it all work out?”

It takes Harry a moment to understand what he’s referencing. The last time they spoke, Harry was walking willingly to his death at Voldemort’s hand. “Oh! Yes. I mean, at first, no, because I died, but I wasn’t properly dead, just the horcrux inside of me was, so I was able to come back, and then we finished him off.”

“We?”

“There was still one horcrux left- his snake- so Neville sliced clean through it with the Sword of Gryffindor. Then it was just me and Tom. He tried to kill me but the spell rebounded because he was never the true owner of the Elder Wand, I was, er, well, _am_… Flitwick is helping me with it, but regardless, the spell rebounded and he died and that was that.”

Harry feels daft now, just spewing out everything like that, but thankfully Remus doesn’t seem to mind. The smile is back on his face as he says, “I’m so proud of you. I always have been, but to go through all of that… you’re incredible, Harry. You’ve more than made your parents proud.”

He hangs his head, not feeling worthy of the praise. “I’m not so sure about that. I haven’t exactly amounted to much- especially as of late.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that.”

Harry hops himself up onto the nearest desk and reverses the spell that seals his prosthesis to his body. He sets it down with a thud before gesturing to the remaining stump in anger. “What do you call this?”

“A leg,” Remus responds calmly.

“And don’t you want to know how I lost it?”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“I was a shit auror!” Harry’s angry voice bounces around the room. “I put my partner in harm’s way and then couldn’t even manage to cast a spell correctly! Not to mention I chose my job over just about every person that mattered to me. I wasted six years of my life being someone I don’t even recognize anymore.”

Remus doesn’t move or make any sounds and if Harry weren’t still glaring daggers into his eyes, daring him to say something, he’d think that his former professor had gone. But there he is, cool as ever, hands in the pockets of his corduroy trousers.

“Well?” Harry challenges, growing frustrated at his lack of response. “Do you _still_ think my parents would be proud of me?”

“Yes.”

As though it’s that simple. His ears are still ringing with the fury he feels when he hears himself asking feebly, “How?”

“Because accidents happen. Because you’re no less due to your injury. Because if they could look past all of that for me, then they could certainly do the same for you.” Remus waits until he can tell it’s beginning to sink in. “We’ll always be proud of you, Harry.”

“But I failed the aurors.”

“You should never have been an auror. You deplore fighting.”

“I failed my friends.”

“They’ll forgive you. There’s still time.”

“I failed you.”

“Never.”

This is the moment Harry’s been dreading the most. “I didn’t take care of Teddy.”

Remus hangs his own head in shame at that, admitting, “It was too much for me to ask a teenager to look after my son.”

“But I promised-”

“Stop,” Remus interrupts. “It was never your burden to bear. Is he at least with Andromeda?”

“Yes! She loves him dearly and would do anything to keep him safe.” Harry omits the part about being banned from seeing his godson, not wanting to hear another excuse be made for his sake.

“Then no harm has been done.” He waits a few moments, but when Harry offers no other examples he asks, “What else is bothering you?"

Leave it to Remus to know there’s still more weighing on his mind. “I’m going to be helping out Professor Flitwick, here at the castle. How do I know I won’t fail at that the same way I’ve failed at everything else?”

“Ah, well, that one’s easy. You will fail.”

Harry’s jaw drops open. There are no words for the betrayal he feels. And then Remus is chuckling and that only makes it worse.

“Message received,” Harry grumbles. “I’m the worst.”

“You misunderstand me!” he says quickly. “We all fail at some points in our lives. Sometimes these are big failures and sometimes they are small, but always we fail. It’s the only way we can improve. Think of all the times you failed to cast your patronus. You may have seen those failures as a bad thing, but each time you failed you learned a little bit more about yourself. You learned what memories you truly cherished, as opposed to those that were simply a good moment in your life. Those failures lead you to your eventual success.”

Harry is about to argue that there’s no way his failure as an auror can be spun positively when he realizes that his accident gave him a second chance at life. It may have ripped away six years’ worth of memories, but it also afforded him the opportunity to reevaluate everything that he found important. Every friendship, every relationship is getting a second chance. And it’s all due to one catastrophic failure.

“So… maybe this was all meant to happen?”

Remus shrugs at that, wobbling his head in a non-committal way. “Who can say? All we have is the hand we’re dealt in life and you’ve been dealt a ridiculously bad hand. Now, if you ask me, I think you’ve got what it takes. But it isn’t up to me.”

“It’s up to me,” Harry finishes for him.

The smile is back again. “Exactly. And _that’s_ why we’re proud of you.”

Unlike his conversation with Snape, Remus sticks around for a while longer. Harry catches him up on some of the smaller details of his life, what his friends are up to, how McGonagall is running the castle, all trivial details really. And it’s almost as though Remus is really there again. Almost. But Harry knows better. No good can come from tethering a soul to someplace it doesn’t belong.

So, with great sadness, Harry bids Remus farewell. He turns- not wanting to see someone he loves vanish before his eyes- but Remus offers one last piece of advice, “Give Andromeda some time; she’ll come around.”

Harry never told him what transpired at the dragon reserve. How could he…? He whips around, the question already on his tongue, but Remus is gone.

* * *

A few days later Harry and Neville are out by the lake, sitting under a tree (_the_ tree, they used to call it, everyone understanding exactly what that meant) for a little respite from the sun. They have a bag of snacks courtesy of Kreacher and conversation flows easy between them.

“So, you’re going to be a professor?” Neville asks after Harry’s done telling him about his stay at Hogwarts.

“_Assistant-to-the- _Professor,” Harry corrects.

“Ah, yes. My mistake,” he says with no small amount of cheek. “I suppose that makes sense, though.” Harry tilts his head so Neville explains, “You may have been outdone by Hermione and Malfoy as far as grades went, but I think that was due to you and Ron getting yourselves into trouble more than a lack of understanding of the lessons.”

“Voldemort was always trying to kill me, as well.”

“Yeah, there’s that.”

The two share a dark chuckle. Their childhoods were seriously messed up.

“How’s your gran?” Harry asks after a beat.

“Old,” Neville answers with a shrug. “I used to think she was terribly old when I was at school, but now… it’s hard watching her fade.”

“Sorry, mate. So many of us don’t even have grandparents alive anymore, I guess we never thought what it was like for you.”

“It was always just the way it was. Me and Gran. I had some relatives who would stop by, try to tell her how to raise me better, attempt to force my magic to the surface, but then they always left and it was back to just being us two. She was stern but I never doubted she loved me. She’d take me to see my parents. That was hard. I knew I was supposed to miss them, but how do you miss what you never had?” He says it because he knows Harry understands. He understands the way that no one else can.

“I still feel guilty sometimes,” Harry admits. “I have photographs of them and stories that people tell me about how much they loved me, but I don’t have any real memories.” He scoffs at the very word, though he chooses not to dwell on it. Instead, he changes the subject. “So, who do you have helping you out?”

Neville shakes his head. “Just me.”

“That’s not healthy, mate.”

“Says the one who had to be kidnapped from his own home to have some sense knocked into him!”

That day when Ron and Hermione and Draco and Hagrid exploded back into his life seems like so long ago. As much as he’s different from who he was before his accident, Harry figures he’s changed even more over the summer months. He understands more of who he is as well as who he wants to be. And part of that is a person who is there to support his friends. They’ve supported him for years- sometimes blindly, sometimes into mortal peril- and it’s time that he returns the favor.

He holds up his hands defensively and says, “You’re right. But it doesn’t make it any less true for you. Being alone, bearing that burden yourself, it’ll take you down. Trust me. Think you can get away like this every once in a while?”

“Will _you_? Once the school term starts?” Neville seems very small all of a sudden, shrinking in on himself as though to protect himself from what the answer might be.

But there’s zero hesitation in Harry’s reply. “Absolutely.”

“Good. I like this new-and-improved Harry.”

“I do too.”

They settle back onto the grass, looking out across the lake as they share a comfortable, companionable silence.

It’s eventually broken by a familiar bark, growing louder as a furry shape emerges from the distance. Harry just about has the time to warn Neville before they’re full on lick-attacked by Benson. Hagrid is jogging after him and shouting for him to come back, but it’s no use. Their visit ends with both of them covered in slobber, but with smiles on their faces nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little dramatic but also and uplifting ending. I hope you guys can tell better times are ahead for our dear friend Harry. 
> 
> Also, I hate myself just a little bit for the sheer number of The Office (US) references make it into my fics. There's an obvious one here and in rereading a past chapter for continuity purposes I found another. Oh well!
> 
> :)


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